


It's not about the bed

by illuminate



Series: cupbearer [3]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Finally, Getting Together, Grantaire Has Issues, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Reincarnation, so does Enjolras, vampire!Enjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-14 17:49:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 55,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4573974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illuminate/pseuds/illuminate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire has not been avoiding Enjolras. That's insane. What he has been doing, which might from a certain angle be viewed as avoidance, is trying to phase out some of their more codependent behavior which won't be necessary with everybody else back. </p><p>Enjolras doesn't take it well. And then things fall apart.</p><p> </p><p>In which Enjolras has been keeping secrets, Grantaire's favorite coping mechanism is avoidance, Marius gets angry and everybody is very concerned. There are werewolves too, but never mind them, they are not important.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will make no sense if you haven't read Waking up.

This is how they sleep.

Grantaire can sleep anywhere, in any number of uncomfortable positions and no matter the surroundings. If he falls asleep anywhere in the apartment - on a couch, in a chair or on the floor beneath the coffee table – he always wakes up in bed. It's not a mystery how he gets there. Enjolras can easily carry him and never wakes Grantaire unless he means to do so.

In a bed Grantaire sleeps curled up on his side, close to the edge.

Grantaire doesn't know how Enjolras sleeps. He hasn't caught him at it in decades. Enjolras only needs three hours of sleep a day and presumably takes them while Grantaire is already asleep. He gets cranky if he doesn't get them, which is how Grantaire is sure he does sleep usually.

There are other clues. Like how Enjolras is sometimes wearing these soft t-shirts when Grantaire wakes from a nightmare. Well-worn, thin t-shirts Grantaire never sees him in during the day. Or how the bed always smells of Enjolras. _The_ bed, singular, because usually there is only one which they share because Enjolras likes tiny apartments.

This is how they sleep. Grantaire trying not to take up much space and ready to get out while Enjolras only sleeps in theory.

It changes two weeks after Grantaire smashes a magic mirror.

****

Grantaire isn't completely adjusted to his reincarnated friends. Sometimes he slips up a little.

It seems Grantaire has accidentally been sorting the world into two categories; other people, who may occasionally prove enjoyable and useful company, but should always be kept at a wary distance, and Enjolras who is...well, Enjolras. While none of their friends are in fact Enjolras, they fit that category much better than the first one. 

Today he forgets Combeferre can't hear him coming a mile off. He nearly makes Combeferre jump out of his seat in surprise when Grantaire appears beside him in the library.

“Grantaire.” Combeferre greets him a little shaken and bends down to pick up the pencil he just dropped.

“Sorry.” Grantaire says sheepishly while taking a seat next to Combeferre. “The librarian today doesn't like me, so I'm being as quiet as I can. I'll try not to give you a heart attack next time.”

“I'd appreciate that.” Combeferre says “What are you doing here?”

“I'm trying to get hold of Bossuet before his afternoon lecture. I know his study group is meeting here in twenty minutes.” Grantaire says. He squirms around in his seat, trying to make himself comfortable in a chair that clearly wasn't designed with comfort anywhere in mind.

“Maybe it's time you replace your phone. You have been hard to get hold of lately.”

“It wasn't my phone, it was Enjolras'. I just had custody of it.” Grantaire says. “He is where you should take your complaints.”

“Is that an important distinction? That it isn't your phone?” Combeferre asks.

“I don't need my own.” Grantaire says, looking down. 

He doesn't need his own phone because you can easily get hold of him via Enjolras. If he happens not to be with Enjolras at the time, Enjolras will usually know where to find him and vice versa. 

But more important is that Grantaire likes occasionally playing secretary. It gives him small opportunities to prove he's useful, which helps when he's having a bad day. Neither of them have ever admitted it out loud, but they both know it's the real reason Enjolras decided he needed a smart phone and then promptly handed it over to Grantaire. His excuse was that he couldn't figure out the touchscreen. They're still using that excuse, although it's gotten increasingly ludicrous with time. Enjolras often forgets about it when he's exited and will commandeer other peoples tablets and smart phones if he needs something and Grantaire isn't around, or when Grantaire is around but simply isn't doing it fast enough. 

Grantaire never attempts explaining this to other people. It's weird and reveals more about his issues than is appropriate in polite company.

“We've never had any problems with it.” Grantaire tells Combeferre, wearing a solemn expression – that is quickly ruined by the very uncomfortable chair shifting strangely beneath him.

“What about those merchants? Last week Enjolras seemed pretty concerned they would come looking for the mirror. What if something happens and we can't get hold of you?” Combeferre asks.

“If they were going to do something they wouldn't have waited this long. A trail can grow very cold in two weeks.” Grantaire says. “But again; getting a new phone would be Enjolras' job.“

“If you say so.” Combeferre says, clearly only admitting defeat to humor Grantaire – and because he has more pressing matters on his mind, judging by his following question. “Since I have you here, can I ask you about something I read in a translation Jehan gave me?”

“Sure.” Grantaire agrees, squirming a little in his seat. While Combeferre pulls up his bag to get out the translation, Grantaire moves to sit on the table instead, giving up on the chair completely.

“That was a terrible chair.” Grantaire explains when Combeferre looks up at him with amusement.

“Pick one with a blue cushion next time, they're a little better.” Combeferre says and hands him a notebook filled with Jehan's flowery scrawlings. He opens it to a page that's been bookmarked with a picture of Stonehenge and points to a specific paragraph.

“So....where the blood is from?” Grantaire says, scratching his head while skimming over the text. “That's pretty straightforward, isn't it? There's different connotations if you get it from a cut on the hand than if you get it from a cut on the chest for example. The second one gives much more control over the er...donor. There's also whether the blood is given or taken by force and so on. What is your question exactly?”

“I think I understand the theory. What I was wondering is how it relates to you?”

“To me?” Grantaire says and accidentally snaps the notebook closed in surprise.

“To you and Enjolras. Roughly speaking vampires use blood magic, yes?”

“The popular theory is that they're a product of some very old blood magic. And they use it, I guess, but it's a simpler version that's intrinsic to them. They don't have to know any of the theory behind or do any of the spell work.”

“Okay.” Combeferre says, nodding his understanding in a way that means he'll ask more about this later, but right now he has something more important in mind. 

“He bites you here.” Combeferre begins and touches the side of Grantaire's throat lightly. “And when you're hurt he gives you blood from here.” He touches his own wrist. “Does that have any importance?”

“You're suggesting it's unequal.” Grantaire says.

“If I understand the book correctly it is.” Combeferre says. “I'm not saying he's doing it on purpose, but it seems like you already knew about it.”

“Which means I'm letting him.” Grantaire finishes for him. He pauses for a second, but Combeferre doesn't correct him. “It's not...” Grantaire begins, then pauses again shaking his head. Combeferre waits while Grantaire absently taps his fingers against the table edge before continuing.

“First of all; he doesn't bite me here if he can help it.” Grantaire says touching the mark on his throat. He hesitates, counting back in his head – but no, it's been nine days, he should be healed – and then pulls down his t-shirt to show the mark on his collarbone. 

“He goes here if he can. It's not much, but it is a little better, symbolically. This here, the throat.” Grantaire taps at his throat again. “Is instinctual. Vampires go here because it's where they get the most power out of it, even if they aren't aware of that. He tries, but sometimes he doesn't have control over it, and short of letting him starve and go mad there isn't much we can do. If he really needs the blood this is where he'll get it.”

“And when it's you who need it?” Combeferre prompts, touching Grantaire's wrist lightly.

“I think he does that deliberately.” Grantaire admits. “He always does it from the wrist, but I don't think that makes it any less powerful. It's all about symbolism, and symbols aren't objective, not if you have some strong associations of your own. The wrist is where he gave me blood from the first time, you see, when he woke me on the Barricade. It was the part of him that was easiest to move at that point.”

Combeferre blinks at him, taking that in, before breathing out a relieved laugh.

“So it's about keeping you safe now. He's changed the meaning.”

“I wouldn't have let him continue doing it otherwise. It would be a waste of blood if he gave it in a way that decreased the power.”

“I'm sorry.” Combeferre says, taking Grantaire's hand in his. “It feels like I should have figured as much. He's never been one to follow the rules.”

“You shouldn't tell him about it though.” Grantaire says. “I'm pretty sure it won't change the meaning for him, but knowing the inherent connotations in taking blood directly from my throat will upset him. - Actually, you shouldn't talk with him about these sorts of things when I'm not there to run interference. He's a little sensitive, just the word thrall can set him off.”

“Yes, we've all noticed that. But it's hard to catch both of you when you're avoiding him. You should arrange a Q&A session sometime soon. I know a lot of the others have questions about the thrall thing too.”

“Wait, avoiding him?” Grantaire asks, aghast. “I'm not avoiding Enjolras. We live together. Trust me, if I didn't come home every night you would all notice him freaking out.”

“I heard it from Enjolras.” Combeferre says.

“Enjolras said – Well, shit.” Grantaire says and jumps off the table. “If you spot Bossuet, please tell him I'm having a late lunch with Enjolras and Courfeyrac.” He tells Combeferre hurriedly before rushing out of the library. He narrowly avoids crashing into the librarian, whose glare follows him the rest of the way out of the building.

***

Grantaire has not been avoiding Enjolras. That's insane. 

What he has been doing, which might from a certain angle be viewed as avoidance, is trying to phase out some of their more codependent behavior which won't be necessary anymore with everybody else back. He has stopped following Enjolras everywhere for one - not that he followed him _everywhere_ before, but now he has made it a rule that he shouldn't follow if he knows one of the other will be there. Which happens to have been a majority of the time these past two weeks. Grantaire suspects someone has sat down and written out a schedule so Enjolras is never alone for very long – it was probably Courfeyrac. It could be because they are still worried he will try to leave again, but more likely they have noticed how downright happy just being around them makes Enjolras.

So it isn't like there was any need for Grantaire to tag-along. Enjolras clearly wouldn't suffer any from Grantaire's absence – except that it has apparently spawned this worrying avoidance-idea.

Grantaire hasn't been handling the distance perfectly himself. Apart from the fact that everything is better when he's around Enjolras there is the concern something might happen without Grantaire there to fix it. In his weak moments he has had to repeat to himself that any one of the others would stop Enjolras from somehow getting himself killed. Even if they aren't capable of talking him out of doing stupid things, their mere presence should be enough to make Enjolras more cautious. Grantaire knows this because standing near and making it clear he will follow any ill-advised decision Enjolras makes is a gambit he's been using successfully for decades.

All in all it is a great relief to know he will have to stop this not-avoidance strategy now that it has made Enjolras think crazy thoughts. Dropping it does mean Grantaire will have to pick another one of their codependent behaviors to work on, but it can wait until after he has made sure Enjolras isn't freaking out about Grantaire supposedly avoiding him.

He finds Enjolras at his and Courfeyrac's usual table near the amphitheater. Unlike Combeferre, there is no danger of startling him by being too quiet. Enjolras makes it clear he's heard Grantaire's approach by closing down his laptop long before Grantaire is anywhere near the table.

“I'm not avoiding you. That's ridiculous, Enjolras.” Grantaire leads with because this is the important point to make.

“It feels that way.” Enjolras says and slumps forward, letting his head drop to rest on the table. He sounds tired.

Grantaire leans his hip against the edge of the table and considers Enjolras. This seems like one of those times where hair touching is allowed, Grantaire decides. Enjolras' curls twine softly around Grantaire's fingers and Enjolras sighs, tension leaving his body.

“I'm avoiding Marius. And....I might have been so proactive about it that I've also accidentally been avoiding the rest of you.” Grantaire volunteers after a moment. That is actually true, and although it isn't the main reason Enjolras has seen less of him, it could easily have been a contributing factor.

Enjolras turns his head to the side so he can look up at Grantaire. Then he reaches up and removes Grantaire's hand from his hair, lifting it around so he can press his noise against Grantaire's wrist. He closes his eyes with another sigh.

“That bad, huh?” Grantaire asks quietly, feeling terrible. Enjolras has several brands of weird vampire behavior, but such deliberate sniffing means he must have gotten really anxious about Grantaire avoiding him. 

“It was very...disconcerting.” Enjolras says. 

“I could cancel with the bad decision twins and go with you tonight.” Grantaire offers and twines his other hand into Enjolras hair. “You're seeing that terrible documentary with Feuilly and Bahorel, right?”

“And Courfeyrac and Combeferre.”

“I thought Courfeyrac had been banned for throwing stuff at the screen and buuhing.”

“He's been allowed on the condition that we don't let him near any food or beverages.” Enjolras says, releasing Grantaire's wrist. “And it's all right, you don't have to cancel.”

“You sure?” Grantaire asks, a part of him hoping Enjolras will take him up on it. He really hasn't enjoyed the distance himself even if it was of his own doing.

“Yes.” Enjolras says and sits up.”You would just encourage Courfeyrac.”

“I would never. There's a special place in hell for people who talk in theaters – even the movie ones.” Grantaire says and reluctantly removes his hand from Enjolras' hair.

“I know that's not true. I've been to the theater with you before.” Enjolras reminds him. “Why are you avoiding Marius?”

Grantaire grimaces and lifts himself up to sit on the table before replying. “Because I'm afraid I'll blurt out a certain piece of knowledge he doesn't have if I'm left alone with him for any amount of time. I can barely stand looking at him, and I think Cosette is on to me. The other day she said that if there was anything I wanted to talk about I could always come to her. You have to tell them soon. It's only getting worse with time.”

“Grantaire, I would have told him last week if it weren't for the fact that _you keep avoiding us_. I can't tell him if you're not there – we both did this.”

“I know, I know.” Grantaire sighs, rubbing at his forehead. “Maybe we should call them up and set a date. Preferably somewhere soft that doesn't have any stakes lying around.”

“He's a werewolf Grantaire, he doesn't need stakes.” Enjolras says, and nods to something behind Grantaire. “Courfeyrac is coming.”

“I know _he_ doesn't, I was worried about Cosette.” Grantaire says, before dropping the subject and turning to greet Courfeyrac. “Hi, I'm crashing your lunch.”

“You're more than welcome. I don't think I've seen you in a while.” Courfeyrac says and drops his bag on the table with a heavy _thunk_. “You don't seem to be carrying any food though.”

“I already ate. I'm only here for the lovely company.” Grantaire says, sliding off the table and taking a proper seat.

“So once again I'll be the only one actually eating.” Courfeyrac sighs and digs a squashed sandwich out of his bag. “It's a good thing you're here though, I just heard from the werewolves that's been harassing Marius. They've suggested we meet up and 'talk' in two days.” He says, making air quotes around 'talk' with his fingers.

“'Talk'?” Enjolras asks.

“Yeah, I don't know. The guy I talked with seemed friendly enough, but all the spots they've suggested are pretty isolated, which smells fishy to me. It could be a werewolf thing I guess, maybe they don't want witnesses if they need to sniff each other or something.”

“Supernatural creatures do have a tendency to pick clandestine locations. I think it's a cultural thing.” Grantaire admits. “But yeah, that does sound a little like a trap.”

“If they have offered to 'talk' I think we should give them the benefit of doubt.” Enjolras says. “But we should make sure we outnumber them, just in case.”

“Well, that should be easy, there's only three of them.” Courfeyrac says. “They only know me, Marius, Bossuet and Joly, and I don't think us humans count to them. That's two against three in their minds then. I doubt they'll find it necessary to drag any distant relations along for backup.”

“What about Cosette?” Enjolras asks

“They don't know her as far as I'm aware. Marius has been good at keeping her out of it. She can't come anyway, she's visiting her mom this weekend. It's the first time since remembering, so Marius has convinced her not to cancel. Her upbringing was... well, it's complicated – both now and last time.”

“She has the same mom?” Grantaire asks.

“She's not sure, it's complicated. You should ask her about it.”

“Bossuet wants you.” Enjolras interrupts, handing Grantaire his phone.

“Right.” Grantaire says, scanning the text. “I'll just go talk with him – I'll be right back.” He promises Enjolras, squeezing his shoulder on his way out of the seat.

“You need to replace your phone.” Courfeyrac calls after him.

“It wasn't _my_ phone.” Grantaire calls back.

***

It's close to midnight and Grantaire is a little drunk when it occurs to him what his next project should be on the quest for less obvious codependency.

The bed. More specifically, the fact they only have one bed and so are currently both sleeping in the same one. 

It's perfect. There's no significance or emotional issues behind the bed sharing. It's a product of convenience that has turned into an accidental tradition because Enjolras has a habit of renting ridiculously small apartments. They have the room for it now; there's a second bedroom which Grantaire can claim as his own without having to rearrange the furniture too much. It won't be much of a change; Enjolras only needs about three hours of sleep a night and always comes and goes while Grantaire is asleep. The only difference will be the location and the fact that his bed will finally stop smelling of Enjolras all the time. 

“I'm a genius.” Grantaire tells Joly, draping an arm around his shoulders. He will only have to get a second bed and then he will officially have accomplished _something_.

“Of course you are, you shouldn't sound so surprised about it. What happened to the girl you were talking to?”

“Alas, tonight it was not meant to be. Which is a shame because it's months since anyone deigned to take pity on me.” Grantaire says, releasing Joly again.

“A fallen comrade.” Bossuet proclaims, returning from the bar with an empty glass. He carefully transfers his beer from the cracked glass it had been served in, to the new, whole one. “What moved against you tonight, my friend? Are the stars not in position?”

“Certainly. The stars – our star, the sun is not in position.” Grantaire says, slumping forward on the table. “The bed is a problem too, though not the main one tonight. But I'm going to fix it nonetheless.”

“Which bed?” Bossuet asks

“My bed, I suppose...” Grantaire says, frowning. “I'm tired. I think I'll go home now.”

“Already? It's barely midnight.” Bossuet protests.

“It's Thursday, I don't know what you lot have against a respectable bedtime on a Thursday. You, at least, have classes starting at 8 tomorrow, oh Captain, my Captain.” Grantaire says and gets up.

“That particular professor is better understood with sleep deprivation.” Bossuet says primly.

“Are you Cinderella, R?” Joly asks and grabs Grantaire's arm. “What will happen if we decide to keep you?”

“I will be miserable with lack of sleep.” Grantaire says. “Separation anxiety. I will pine for my bed.”

“Poor thing. You can go then.” Joly says. “But I suspect it isn't the bed you would pine for.”

Grantaire grimaces and leaves before Joly can decide they need to talk about that. A lot of them has been dropping hints lately that they are a little _concerned_. So far, Grantaire has been combating it by aggressively dropping his own hints that he much prefers it when everybody pretends to be oblivious. Joly and Bossuet are likely to be the first ones to crack and ask him outright about him and Enjolras. They enjoy prying much too much for anybodies good.

There is nothing to worry about. Grantaire has been handling those particular issues for centuries without anything terrible happening. The key is to only ever stay as close as Enjolras needs him to. If that is sometimes closer than most people would consider normal, then Grantaire can only count himself lucky for getting more than expected.

It's not as if he isn't capable of staying out all night without Enjolras – which he has already proven to Bossuet and Joly several times. But today there was the avoidance-idea, which seems like a good reason to go home early this time.

When he gets home, Bahorel, Combeferre, Courfeyrac and Feuilly are all still there, and Jehan has appeared at some point as well. Grantaire supposes this means he could have stayed away a while longer, but right now he is tipsy enough to admit that it was just as much for his own sake he came back this early.

They are gathered in the living room, strewn across the different couches around the coffee table. It's a big apartment, very big. There's much more space than Grantaire knows what to do with, after years of Enjolras picking the smallest places he could get his hands on. There's a purpose to the size of course; they need to have room enough that everybody can fit here comfortably all at once. To this end there is several couches in the sitting room. Two that each easily fit three people and two loveseats. Then there's a couple of armchairs - not around the coffee table, but light enough that they can easily be dragged there to create a democratic circle – and finally three bean bags Feuilly and Bahorel gave them as a house warming present, and which Feuilly insists on sitting in, no matter how much of the real furniture is left open.

“R! You're back early.” Bahorel says when Grantaire makes his appearance.

“Yeah, I got tired.” Grantaire says and sits down on the floor in front of an empty loveseat. For some reason this makes Enjolras look at him strangely. 

“How was the documentary. Full of righteous fury?” Grantaire asks.

“It was very good, even though Enjolras kept being a buzz kill.” Courfeyrac says.

“He was keeping you from being thrown out again.” Combeferre points out.

“We should probably stop bringing him to that sort of thing.” Feuilly says. “No offense Courf, but you get a little too excited for that particular venue.”

“None taken.” Courfeyrac says, grinning.

“You shouldn't. There's nothing wrong with feeling very strongly.” Jehan says.”That said, you still owe me for that time my pants became a casualty in your 'excitement'”.

“I _am_ sorry about that, Jehan. It wasn't on purpose, I liked those pants.”

Enjolras suddenly makes a frustrated noise and gets up from his seat. Everyone startles in surprise and watches silently as he walks over and puts a hand on Grantaire's shoulder.

Grantaire might be a bit drunker than he first thought because it takes him a second to figure out what this is about.

Right. Touching. Enjolras likes touching Grantaire when he's been away.

“We're still doing this?” Grantaire asks, but lifts his hand to cover Enjolras' nonetheless.

“ _Yes_.” Enjolras says and pushes some hair out of Grantaire's face with a little more force than necessary. “I'll get you some water.”

The others look questioningly at Grantaire for an explanation while Enjolras is gone. Grantaire simply shakes his head in answer. He's not sober enough to make it sound less unhealthy than it is.

Enjolras returns, handing Grantaire a glass of water and taking a seat on the couch behind Grantaire, his legs fitting in behind Grantaire's back. 

“So, how was your evening, Grantaire?” Bahorel asks, breaking the awkward silence after Grantaire has obediently taken a sip of water.

“Good.” Grantaire says, setting the glass on the table. ”There was Joly and Bossuet and alcohol. So a good time were had by all. There even was a girl who seemed amenable to spend time with me – which was nice, even if I couldn't. It's been ages.”

“Seven months.” Enjolras supplies quietly.

“Really?” Grantaire says, and then goes very quiet because Enjolras slips his hand into Grantaire's hair, gently carding through it. 

It's a good thing Grantaire isn't holding the glass anymore, because he would probably have dropped it. His eyes slips shut of their own accord and his body goes boneless, melting back against Enjolras' legs. It's a very good thing that Grantaire is a little drunk, because otherwise he would have to make himself move away.

“Grantaire.” Combeferre calls. “Why couldn't you, with the girl?”

Oh no, Grantaire thinks, opening his eyes again. He shouldn't have mentioned the girl. He thinks he knows where this will go, and he's not going to lie to them, but it'll be weird to anybody who isn't Enjolras.

“Because Enjolras is here.” Grantaire admits, and hopefully that will be enough.

“Oh yeah, I guess super hearing can make that awkward.” Bahorel snickers “But couldn't you just go to her place?”

“No, because Enjolras is here.” Grantaire sighs, closing his eyes again. “And Enjolras prefers pre-approving the people I sleep with, because otherwise he's afraid they'll steal my kidney or something.”

“He – Enjolras!” Courfeyrac says, shocked.

“It's not -” Grantaire tries. It's not that Enjolras cares about his sex live, it's that Enjolras has overprotective instincts. The idea of Grantaire being that close with someone while eh... _distracted_ and without Enjolras nearby sets off warning bells to him. But again, Grantaire isn't sure he has the skills to explain it right now without something coming out wrong.

“I can smell it on them.” Enjolras says. “Usually they're fine, but there have been a couple with bad intentions. And more often than not you're too drunk to notice anything is off.”

“Enjolras...” Combeferre begins, reproachful.

“I don't mind.” Grantaire insists. “It's better than before. He traumatized the poor girl the first time anyone took pity on me.”

“You suddenly disappeared, without telling me _anything_. I was understandably concerned.” Enjolras protests.

“So how does that work exactly?” Courfeyrac asks. “If Enjolras just happens to be nearby you drag your intended to him and say _this suitor wishes to bed me, do we have your blessing to get it on?_ ”

“I usually say I have to check something with my roommate first. And if the _suitor displeases him._ ” Grantaire says, making a grand gesture in Courfeyrac's direction. “He makes up some errand I have to run for him, so I have an excuse to call it off that isn't 'my roommate thinks you smell distrustful'. You're terrible at that by the way, you barely fool half of them.” Grantaire says, turning his head to look back at Enjolras. “One time you told me you needed stamps. It was the middle of the night, where would I get stamps? It's like you're not even trying.”

“I'm not.” Enjolras admits. “I just want them gone.”

“I knew it.” Grantaire grins.

“It doesn't sound....fair.” Jehan says hesitantly.

“I don't mind.” Grantaire repeats, leaning back against Enjolras' legs again. “Honestly. It's instincts – he can't...“ He breaks off and makes a helpless gesture. 

“What's that?” Feuilly asks, repeating the gesture.

“Words.” Grantaire sighs, covering his face with his hands “I either need to be sober or much more drunk if we're going to continue talking about my sex life.”

“Your _lack_ of sex life because of Enjolras, actually.” Combeferre corrects. When Grantaire peeks out between his fingers Combeferre is starring at Enjolras with an unnerving expression. This is going nowhere good, Grantaire thinks. The only upside is that the bed hasn't come up yet.

Enjolras's hand resettles in Grantaire's hair. Grantaire leans into the touch and makes a little pleased noise. Half a second later he remembers he shouldn't do that – but never mind, because Enjolras' hand presses in a little more insistently in response. Being drunk enough to act greedy is _awesome_.

“Maybe you should go to bed.” Enjolras suggests. “Didn't you say you came back because you were tired?”

“I did.” Grantaire agrees, opening his eyes again. Strange. He doesn't remember closing them.

“He's going to bed.” Enjolras announces and removes his hand from Grantaire's hair to grip his arms instead and pulls him up.

Grantaire murmurs a distracted good night to the others and lets himself be guided into the bedroom.

“You're being self-sacrificing again. I think.” Grantaire says, frowning when Enjolras deposits him on the bed. “I'm not sure I should let you.”

“They want to tell me off, Grantaire. It'll be easier for all of us if you aren't there.” Enjolras says and bends down to remove Grantaire's shoes and the knife strapped to his leg.

Grantaire loses his train of thought there for a few seconds, caught at the sight of Enjolras bowed head. He manages to come to himself in time to bat Enjolras' hands away from his t-shirt.

“I can undress myself, Enjolras, I'm nowhere near that drunk – I just didn't want to talk about it.” Grantaire says and flops down onto his back. “And now you're throwing yourself to the wolves.”

“They're hardly wolves, just worried about you.” Enjolras says. He pauses before continuing in a dangerously solemn tone. “I am aware _why_ they're worried, Grantaire.”

Grantaire sucks in air in surprise. He's pretty sure this is the closest Enjolras has ever come to addressing Grantaire's feelings. They don't talk about that, ever, and Grantaire is eternally grateful. He doesn't think his sanity would have survived if they hadn't both done their best to ignore that issue.

When Grantaire doesn't say anything Enjolras leans forward trying to catch Grantaire's eyes. Grantaire unsubtly curbs his efforts by throwing an arm across his own face.

“You're a control freak, that's the problem.” Grantaire says into the crook of his elbow. “It's you they should be worried about, it has nothing to do with me.” 

Enjolras sighs and Grantaire can practically feel him frowning.

“Go and let them scold you, then.” Grantaire says and waves his free hand towards the door. Enjolras responds by stepping closer, his legs pressing against Grantaire's.

“Grantaire.” Enjolras says and reaches over to remove Grantaire's arm from his face. Grantaire considers resisting for a fleeting moment, but inevitably yields at Enjolras' touch and lets his arm be moved.

“What?” Grantaire asks, looking petulantly up at Enjolras.

“If I did something.” Enjolras says, looking anxious. “Something that bothered you. You would tell me, right?”

“Enjolras, _I was not avoiding you._ ” Grantaire insists.

“That's not - You've been....” Enjolras begins and then seems to change his mind, shaking his head. “We'll talk tomorrow.” He says instead, schooling his face back into something neutral, and Grantaire feels a twinge of guilt.

Enjolras starts to move away, but Grantaire grabs his hand before he gets far.

“That sounds a little ominous.” Grantaire huffs and squeezes Enjolras' hand in what he hopes reads as reassurance. It earns him a small smile from Enjolras.

“Sleep well.” Enjolras says, and gently extracts his hand before leaving the room with quiet steps. 

Shortly after the door closes Grantaire can hear the television turn on in the living room. Grantaire curls up on his side and snorts into the bedding. It's white noise, to keep Grantaire from overhearing – although he might still be able to make out their voices if he makes an effort. Grantaire considers it, but quickly decides he isn't masochistic enough to eavesdrop on a discussion on why Enjolras interfering in Grantaire's sex life could be problematic.

Grantaire rolls out of the bed to finish undressing before turning off the light and crawling back in. He buries his face in a pillow with a defeated sigh. 

The bed smells of Enjolras. It always does.

***

There are things Grantaire wants. Things he knows he can't have but still craves hopelessly. Enjolras knows – Enjolras can't _not_ know because he can smell that kind of thing – but doesn't let it stop him from staying close to Grantaire. Enjolras doesn't understand it, he works on a different, higher plane of existence, removed from such base desires. And it's fine, Grantaire is good at compartmentalizing, is adept at denying himself and burying thoughts he shouldn't have. When he is awake at least. His unconscious mind is less easily ruled

When Grantaire falls asleep his dreams are filled with heat and skin and lips. Of touching and continuing to touch and not having to stop unless he wants to. They are rarely altogether happy dreams, because even when fantasizing Grantaire's mind is a cynical place, but they are...satisfying. And guilty. And the shared bed doesn't help at all.

Grantaire wakes at a nearly respectable hour the next day. The accomplishment is however ruined when his still sleepy brain notes that the bed smells of arousal. 

They really need a second bed Grantaire thinks and pulls the pillow down to cover his face. He mentally probes at the back of his mind and finds the slight tingling that means Enjolras is nearby. And right, he wanted to talk about something today, didn't he? Meaning he'll probably be _right there_ when Grantaire gets up. Grantaire whimpers and twists around to burrow his face into the mattress. 

It ends up being much closer to noon before Grantaire emerges from the bedroom, since he first has to remind himself repeatedly that this has happened before and Enjolras has always ignored it, and then has to spend some more time fiercely hating his own subconsciousness.

When Grantaire comes out Enjolras is sitting in one of the big couches with his laptop, legs up and his back against the armrest so he's facing toward the bedroom door. There's a steaming cup of coffee on the table by his feet.

“Am I supposed to sit on you?” Grantaire asks, looking between the coffee and its placement.

“You could.” Enjolras says, but pulls his feet back to give Grantaire room. As soon as Grantaire sits down Enjolras pushes his toes in beneath Grantaire's leg. Grantaire pokes at one of the offending feet before allowing it and picking up his coffee. The mug is one out of four Jehan has given them, none of which matches. This one is bright green and carries a Shakespeare quote.

“Good morning.” Enjolras says and sets the laptop aside on the coffee table.

“Morning.” Grantaire replies, swallowing down a burning mouthful of coffee and slumping back against the couch. “You've been lying in wait.”

“You have a special way of sighing when you finally start the slow process of getting up.” Enjolras says.

“You know, some might find it creepy that you listen in like that.” Grantaire says. “You probably shouldn't mention it with any of the others.”

“Combeferre told me it was okay as long as I continue using my powers for good.” Enjolras says. “I made him coffee too the other day.”

“That's a slippery slope. You can get away with all kinds of evils if bribing college students with coffee is enough to give you amnesty. And I'm not sure Combeferre qualifies as a good judge of creepy behavior. Remember when he had the geeky blood sample fest with Joly?” Grantaire asks.

“I remember you calling them 'adorkable' and making banners for the occasion with Feuilly.” Enjolras says and pokes at Grantaire's thigh with his toe. “And being creepy is far from my largest concern. Not with them, and especially not with you.” 

“You worry too much.” Grantaire says and empties his coffee in one long, painful gulp.

“Feuilly made a good point last night.” Enjolras says. “He asked if I felt the need to monitor the sex life of anybody else, or if it was just you.”

“I need more coffee.” Grantaire announces, voice hoarse from the scalding coffee, and holds out his now empty mug.

“Grantaire.” Enjolras says exasperated.

“You're possessive and overprotective and it's mostly centered on me, but we already know why and it's not as if we can change that.” Grantaire says, deliberately talking around the word 'thrall'. “I don't mind being special, so stop worrying about it.”

Enjolras doesn't look convinced. He doesn't take the mug either.

“I'll get my own coffee.” Grantaire sighs and gets up. “My version is better anyway.”

Enjolras takes the mug out of his hand from behind. “You're not adding whiskey until you eat something.” He says and continues around Grantaire to the kitchen.

“Case in point.” Grantaire says, following him. “Overprotective.”

Enjolras stops in the middle of the kitchen and turns around, still holding the mug.

“You'll tell me if you start...minding.” He says, half-order and half-question.

“Yes.” Grantaire says and then adds after a pause. “Master.”

Enjolras flinches, but then raises an eyebrow. “You really want to drop this, huh?”

“I'm also proving that I can show my displeasure without having to spell it out to you – but yes, can we please move as far away from the subject of sex as possible?” Grantaire says, leaning his hip against a counter and rubbing at his eyes with one hand. He takes a deep breath before continuing. “And on a completely unrelated note; can we get me a bed soon-ish? You don't have anything else planned for the second bedroom, right? I can claim that?”

There's an unexpected crack. “What?” Enjolras says.

Grantaire looks up to discover that Enjolras has tightened his grip around the mug enough to make it shatter in his hand. He doesn't seem to have noticed.

“What?” Grantaire asks.

The pieces of mug fall to the ground, shattering further on impact, and leaving Enjolras with not much else but the handle in his hand.

“What? What's wrong?” Grantaire asks.

“ _You!_ You're...You're pulling back.” Enjolras says, looking devastated.

“I – No. Enjolras...” Grantaire says and reaches out for the closest part of Enjolras he can grab. He ends up with a hand curled around his shoulder. “I'm not - What does that even mean? I'm right here.”

The handle falls to the ground as well while Enjolras makes a noise Grantaire can't even begin to interpret. He fists his hand in Grantaire's t-shirt and Grantaire quickly pulls him into a close hug.

“Is this the avoidance thing again?” Grantaire asks into Enjolras hair.

“No. Yes – you want your _own bed_.” Enjolras tightens his grip on Grantaire.

“...Yes?” Grantaire says hesitantly. “That's pretty basic, as far as ambitions go? And we have the room? You'll have to explain the problem, I don't get what I did wrong.”

Enjolras leans back enough to look at him. “Grantaire, you haven't had a separate bed in 6 years.”

Grantaire blinks at him in surprise. That was...longer than he'd expected. 

“....Okay. But that's because you always rent tiny places. Now that we have two bedrooms, having two sep-”

“I did not get a bigger apartment _so you could get your own bed!_ ” Enjolras hisses and wrenches himself backwards out of Grantaire's grip.

Grantaire stares in shock. Enjolras glares back, his pupils bigger than usual, like his eyes are close to changing to black and red.

“Okay.” Grantaire says “I didn't know. Forget the bed then.”

He hesitantly reaches his hands out again, worried that Enjolras will shy away, but Enjolras surprises him by walking forward and pressing his face into Grantaire's shoulder instead.

“I didn't know, Enjolras.” Grantaire says, rubbing a hand down Enjolras' back.

Enjolras makes a frustrated noise and presses forward, forcing Grantaire backwards until his back hits the wall with a thump.

“It's not just the bed.” Enjolras says into Grantaire's shoulder, while he fists his hands into the fabric of Grantaire's t-shirt again. “You say you weren't avoiding me but it certainly feels like it. Lately you're always away, Grantaire, and I don't know where you go. I don't know where to find you. Last night you didn't touch me when you came home. It's...You're pulling back and I can't handle it. I can't have you leaving.”

“Woah, woah. No.” Grantaire says, making soothing noises and tightening his grip on Enjolras. ”I'm not leaving. I'm not going anywhere, Apollo, that's not an option. You couldn't beat me off with a stick if you wanted to – even with your super strength.”

The weight of Enjolras' head leaves Grantaire's shoulder as he straightens.

“Then _what_ are you doing?” Enjolras grinds out, his breath ghosting over Grantaire's ear.

“I'm...” Grantaire begins, feeling Enjolras' eyes bore into the side of his head. It's dawning on him that what he has been doing could very well be described as pulling back. “...I figured you wouldn't need me when one of the others were there, so I've been....staying away?” Grantaire says, framing it as a question without meaning to.

“Oh.” Enjolras says, and it's a cold cold sound. He takes a small step back, not releasing his grip on Grantaire's t-shirt, but creating enough space to break the full body contact. And Grantaire has clearly mis-stepped because Enjolras agitation seems to grow, tension rolling off him in waves. 

“I thought you were there because you wanted to be, not because it was something that needed to be done. Not because it was a _chore_.” Enjolras growls, something wild flashing in his eyes.

And that's too much. Without thinking Grantaire grabs Enjolras jaw with one hand, quieting him, holding him there. 

“Are you _listening_ to yourself?! Calm down for a second and think that through. You already know the very good reason that's patently wrong.”

Enjolras has gone still beneath Grantaire's hand, and Grantaire quickly drops it again, already deeply regretting grabbing him like that. The surprise of it seems to have worked though; Enjolras is visibly unwinding again, body relaxing, breath slowing minutely and calm returning to his eyes.

“It's not about what I want, Enjolras.” Grantaire continues into the sudden quiet. It's about not being more pathetic than necessary, he thinks. It's about keeping Enjolras happy. But Enjolras seems settled enough now that he would take exception to Grantaire saying that out loud. Something in Enjolras' expression suggests he picks it up anyway.

“Grantaire.” He sighs, all hostility gone from his voice now, replaced by tired sadness. “I always want you there, whether you need to be or not.”

“Yeah, I was starting to suspect that from all the...” Grantaire says shakily and makes a vague gesture toward Enjolras. 

“I can't have you leave. Even the idea is more than I can bear.” Enjolras says with a pained expression.

“The idea is absurd. I don't know how you even thought up something like that.”

“You were avoiding me while acting like nothing was wrong. I didn't know what it meant. Usually you make it clear when you're unhappy with me.” Enjolras says and glares at Grantaire with lingering frustration.

“I won't do anything you can possibly construe as avoiding you again.” Grantaire promises. “I'll stay close until you tell me to fuck off yourself.”

“I don't mean – I'm not asking you to follow me everywhere.” Enjolras sighs. “Just....If you want to be there you should be.”

“Okay.” Grantaire agrees, although he privately thinks there won't be much difference between those two in practice.

“We should clean up the mug before someone steps in it.” Grantaire suggests, gingerly moving out of the space between Enjolras and the wall. “Would be a waste of good blood.”

“Jehan gave us that.” Enjolras says as Grantaire crouches down and carefully starts picking up the pieces.

“I'm sure he'll forgive you once he hears the reason.”

“Let me do that.” Enjolras says, gripping Grantaire's shoulders and pulling him up and out of the way.

“Yes, yes. You're faster and have better eyesight and is superior in every way. But that doesn't mean I'm not capable of picking that up without somehow harming myself.” Grantaire points out while he deposits the few pieces he'd gotten in the sink.

“I'm not superior. I'm the one who broke it.” Enjolras reminds him, dumping the rest of the pieces in the sink as well, already done.

“And I'm the one who gave you a meltdown over a bed.” Grantaire sighs, glancing at Enjolras. He looks mostly rational again. Maybe a little twitchy still. Grantaire offers one of his hands.

“It was not just the bed.” Enjolras says while taking the proffered hand between both of his.

“No, I got that.” Grantaire agrees, watching as Enjolras runs fingers over the palm of his hand and down to rub over the visible veins on his wrist. “But the bed is still important, isn't it?”

Enjolras grimaces and abruptly lets go of Grantaire's hand. Grantaire blinks up at him in surprise.

“About the bed...” Enjolras says hesitantly, taking a small step back.

“If it matters to you – and it clearly does – we'll keep it as it is.” Grantaire says. “It was just – just an idea.”

“No, I...” Enjolras says shaking his head. He's nervous Grantaire realizes with amazement.“It's...I do prefer it this way. But I have to tell you why, otherwise it isn't fair.”

“Fair?” Grantaire echoes. He can't remember the last time he saw a nervous Enjolras. 

“Yes. Fair, Grantaire.” He says impatiently. Then he seems to regret the tone and looks guilty before shaking his head again. “We should sit down.” He says.

And woah, alarm bells. Enjolras has never prescribed to the philosophy that people should sit down before you tell them bad news. But then, perhaps it isn't bad news? Talk of fairness aside, Grantaire can't imagine how the matter of where they sleep could produce any truly upsetting story. More likely Enjolras is stalling, Grantaire thinks as he follows Enjolras into the living room. Still Grantaire can't help feeling a little alarmed when Enjolras guides him into a couch and then takes a seat on the coffee table in front of him, effectively blocking Grantaire's means of escape.

“It's not just about the bed.” Enjolras begins, and then doesn't say anything for several moments, looking everywhere but at Grantaire. He runs a hand through his hair, seemingly lost for words.

“I'm starting to be a little worried about this.” Grantaire says apprehensively.

“It's nothing bad. Or – in itself, but it might... I realize I haven't been fair about it.” Enjolras says. “I've been very unfair.”

Grantaire squirms in his seat, definitely worried now. “Enjolras, unless you tell me what 'it' is I can't help you.”

“Okay.” Enjolras says, seeming to reach a decision. He finally looks Grantaire in the eyes and says, devastatingly honest “You know I love you right?”

Grantaire freezes. It feels like his heart skips several beats, but Enjolras doesn't react beyond watching him so it can't be anything life threatening. Grantaire takes two shaky breathes before being capable of replying. 

“Of course.” He manages with great effort. “You love all of us. I do know that includes me.”

“...That's true. That always true.” Enjolras agrees, leaning forward. “But it's different with you. Now.”

Oh. That hurts. A great deal more than Grantaire had expected. He's always known he can't measure up to any of the others, but to hear Enjolras admit it out loud is -

“ _No_.” Enjolras snaps. “Whatever you just thought, I didn't mean it like that.” 

Grantaire huffs out a laugh. It's a brief humorless noise, almost hysterical. Enjolras reaches out for Grantaire but aborts the motion before making contact. He ends up gripping the edge of the table instead.

“You need to let me finish.” Enjolras says. “It's different with you because it's also...I'm talking about eros, Grantaire. You're different because with you there's eros too.”

Grantaire stops breathing for several seconds while his mind spins in circles, trying to figure out how he heard that wrong. Enjolras expression is no help, eagerness mixed with something soft and – and then Grantaire has jumped over the back of the couch, creating some much needed distance. Not enough though, not nearly enough.

“No.” Grantaire says, stumbling back. Feeling nauseous. “Stop.”

On Enjolras' face surprise morphs into resignation. He slowly gets up. “Grantaire.” He says soothingly, like he's calming a startled animal.

“No.” Grantaire says – chokes out, voice breaking. “You can have anything you want from me, but not this. You don't get to play with this.”

“I'm not _playing_ -” Enjolras begins, moving around the couch and continuing forward and _no_.

“Stop.” Grantaire says, backing away. “Stopstopstopstopstop STOP.”

Enjolras does stop then, freezes with a startled expression before taking a small step back. Grantaire's uneven breathing sounds loud in the sudden silence. His chest hurts, an insistent gnawing sensation that builds with every breath. Like there's a small animal slowly eating its way through in there.

“You don't believe me at all.” Enjolras says quietly.

“I have been constantly, _pathetically_ in love with you for nearly 200 years. And suddenly _you love me?_ ” Grantaire spits out. “No, I don't believe you.”

“It's not _suddenly_...”

“It's not _true_.” Grantaire interrupts. “Please stop.”

“You really think I would do that to you?” Enjolras asks pained

“You are doing it!”

“ _Grantaire_ ” Enjolras says, almost desperately and takes half a step forward before catching himself. Grantaire takes two steps back without thinking. Enjolras swallows down a frustrated noise before continuing.

“It's not suddenly. It's... been a while.” Enjolras persists “I'm sorry, Grantaire. I thought it was better.”

“Better.” Grantaire laughs coldly, blessed numbness starting to creep over the pain. Enjolras visibly clenches his jaw at the sound. “Okay, I'll play then. What's different now that makes it a good idea? Explain it to me, Apollo, what could possibly have changed that would make you deign to...” _love me_ , but he can't get those words over his lips. “...do _this_?!”

“Because for a brief moment I thought you were leaving me and I realized I would do _anything_ to make you stay!” Enjolras says in a big rush, nearly yelling.

And that makes sense, Grantaire thinks while the numbness cruelly gets washed away and the turning of his insides resume with a vengeance. Enjolras is still out of it, this is just a desperate misguided bid to make sure Grantaire stays. Some tiny part of Grantaire must have begun to hope though because he can feel the sudden spike of misery as it dies a quick death.

“...That's honest at least.” Grantaire says hoarsely, feeling his grip slipping. This is too much; there's an explanation now, but that doesn't change how everything hurts. 

He turns and heads for the door. He needs to go, to get away from Enjolras now, right now, ten minutes ago.

“Grantaire, no - you don't...” Enjolras protest behind him. Grantaire continues forward grabbing his coat and hopes Enjolras won't go so far as to stop him physically.

“ **Grantaire!** ” Enjolras says and Grantaire freezes in the middle of picking up his shoes. 

It's an order but at the same time it isn't; it's an order with no instructions behind it and Grantaire feels his body lock up as it tries to interpret what to do. A moment later it seems to accept that nothing more is coming, and Grantaire regains the ability to whirl around and stare at Enjolras. 

Enjolras has _never_ done that before, has never given orders simply to get his way, it has always been to keep Grantaire safe – but his shocked expression and the hand he has clasped tightly over his own mouth makes it more than clear it wasn't on purpose. Which is another first, the first time since Enjolras realized he could give Grantaire orders something has slipped out unintentionally. That's got to be proof just how out of it he really is – and that even when he's willing to lie to Grantaire about _loving him_ , giving an order is apparently still unacceptable.

Grantaire clutches his shoes to his chest and turns to open the door. Ignoring Enjolras' devastated look he slams the door shut behind himself. Even if manipulating Grantaire's feeling means nothing to Enjolras, the guilt from that accidental order should at least be enough to leave Enjolras unwilling to follow him. Hopefully giving Grantaire more than enough time to get away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eros is one of the four words in Ancient Greek which can be rendered into English as “love”. The other three are storge, philia and agape. Eros refers to “intimate love” or romantic love; storge to familial love; philia to friendship as a kind of love; and agape refers to “selfless love”, or “charity”. (shamelesly stolen from wikipedia) 
> 
> I have absolutely no idea when I will be able to update this


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this time. But it seemed better to split it like this.

Enjolras has near perfect memory, which means he can look at a city map once and memorize the layout of it. Grantaire always picks up the feel of the city first though. He learns the city, the different personalities of its parts; what neighborhoods you will find children playing, where to go to find _good_ cheese, and where you can get suicidally drunk in full daylight without bothering anyone.

Today this proves a useful skill.

Drinking takes effort if Grantaire is to reach the point of senselessness he is aiming for. It takes a great deal of effort. Grantaire had already built quite a tolerance on his own, but after Enjolras turned him it's gotten nearly preposterous. He suspects this isn't a usual consequence but is something Enjolras is subconsciously doing, just like he's stopping Grantaire from aging.

And he must love torturing himself because the point here was not to think of Enjolras.

Whatever creature is gnawing away on Grantaire's internal organs isn't calmed down with alcohol. Not easily outdone, Grantaire decides to continue drinking until he can't feel his chest at all. As long as he can't feel it, he sees no reason the monster can't be left to eat until his chest is empty. At which point it might burst through the skin to look for greener pastures, probably leaving him to bleed out, chest cracked open from the inside.

It occurs to Grantaire that he has Enjolras' blood mixed with his own, which means his insides might literally be turning on itself right now. There's no proper biology with this, just _symbolism_ and Enjolras doing stuff he shouldn't be capable of. _Playing_ with things that he shouldn't.

Grantaire needs more alcohol because this clearly isn't working quickly enough. Which means he'll have to leave the graveyard he's currently hiding in. Too bad. It's the third of his hiding spots today and by far the prettiest. Nobody bothers a miserable looking man in a graveyard as long as he keeps quiet and doesn't make the number of empty bottles in his bag obvious. As an added bonus holy ground can mess with vampires' powers. Grantaire strongly doubts this one is old enough to affect Enjolras, but it's still a nice thought that somewhere in the city Enjolras might be feeling holy interference on their connection – although if he is, it would also make it that much easier for him to find Grantaire. 

And yes, moving on. Although moving in itself is no fun. In his hurry he left the apartment without the silver knife that's usually strapped to his leg, and it's unsettling to suddenly not have it on him. He hasn't gone anywhere without it in four years and now he feels vulnerable. More importantly though, the actual process of moving around is more of an uphill battle than usual. He's not nearly as drunk as he'd like to be, but it's enough that he teeters when he makes sharp turns.

An excellent example of this is when he rounds a corner, tries to correct his wobbling and nearly walks into Eponine.

“Woah...sorry, I – shit.” Grantaire says upon recognizing her. “Ariel.” He adds, mostly to remind himself, and looks around for escape routes as surreptitiously as possible.

“Grantaire. Don't do that, I nearly brained you.” Eponine says and lifts her energy drink menacingly. Then she seems to take him in and frowns. “Are you okay? What are you doing here? You look a little...” She trails off.

“I am a little...” Grantaire says and makes a vague hand gesture. “But I'm working on it. Trust me. On that note I need to go that way.” He says, pointing behind her. He starts stepping around her, but gets stopped by a strong grip on his arm.

“You're drunk.” She says and pulls him back to face her.

“Not nearly enough.” Grantaire says.

“It's just past 3 pm.” She says.

“And being shot was less painful than how I spent my morning.” Grantaire says, too honestly.

She goes quiet at that but doesn't let go of his arm, just studies him.

“Okay.” She says eventually. “Here's what we'll do; my shift at the bar starts in two hours and I will serve you anything you want then, but before that you will have to come with me to a self-defense class I help teach.”

Grantaire blinks down at her, having to take a moment to parse through that.

“Can I bring a mystery bottle with me to the self-defense class?” Grantaire wheedles

“Depends.” Eponine says. “I might consider it if you can honestly tell me how much you've already had today.”

Grantaire makes a mournful sound and looks away.

“I didn't think so.” Eponine says and starts pulling him down the street.

“It's not that I don't remember,” Grantaire explains.”It's because you'd admit me to a hospital if you knew my blood alcohol right now.”

“It's very impressive that you're still standing then.”

“It's my superpower.” Grantaire says, right before a sudden turn makes his head spin a little. 

“And I appreciate the honesty.” Eponine says and links their arms to steady Grantaire.

“I wouldn't lie to you.” Grantaire sighs “What do you want me to do at this class. Sit and cheer you on?”

“You can just watch if you prefer.” Eponine says, tightening her grip on him as they turn another corner. “You could also play assaulter for us. This group is pretty advanced, a little challenge wouldn't traumatize any of them and you do kinda look the part right now. Tell me if I'm wrong, but the state you're in you might get some catharsis out of letting a bunch of kick-ass ladies throw you around.”

“That...” Grantaire says, and imagines himself being kicked and hit in sensitive areas over and over again, perhaps even being knocked to the floor a couple of times. Imagines the simplicity of a pain that's purely physical. “That sounds awesome. Let's do that.”

***

“You're amazing.” Grantaire tells Eponine several hours and bottles later, leaning heavily on the counter of the bar. “ _Amazing_. I'm sure you always have been. I'm sorry I didn't know you better before – although, perhaps you've been better off. I think I was worse then...” Grantaire pauses to grab her hand and presses a sloppy kiss to the back of it. “Tell me, is it Ariel after Disney or after Shakespeare?”

“Grantaire.” She sighs, in an exasperated tone that makes Grantaire clutch protectively at his mostly full glass.

“You promised.” He whines.

“I know, I know.” Eponine says. “But I'm starting to realize you weren't kidding about the hospital.”

“I don't lie.” Grantaire grumbles and carefully, _carefully_ , tips himself off the bar stool and levers himself onto his feet. “See? Can still stand.” He says and lifts his arms up to prove he isn't holding on to anything.

“Yeah? What about on one leg?” Eponine challenges

Grantaire hesitates a moment before making the attempt. Eponine leans forward over the bar, hand stretched out, ready to grab him if he starts falling. But no, Grantaire succeeds with no more than a couple of wobbles.

“This 's nothing.” Grantaire grins, still balancing on one leg. “I can juggle four bottles of wine after emptying them myself. That's always a great party trick. You should hear the applause when I do that, though Apollo never ap...” Grantaire chokes on the last word, memory catching up with his mouth. He stumbles and drops onto the stool again. He reaches out hurriedly, bordering on desperate, and empties the glass all at once.

“Please.” He says hoarsely and pushes the empty glass toward Eponine.

“Enjolras is the problem then” Eponine says gently, making Grantaire flinch in his seat and look away. “Is it really that bad?”

“He was afraid I would leave, so he lied and told me he loved me to make me stay.” Grantaire says, pronouncing each word carefully to make sure his voice doesn't crack on them.

“He...” Eponine begins, but gets interrupted by a customer calling after her from the other end of the bar. “I'll be right back.” She growls in a low tone and hands Grantaire a bottle of whiskey before going to passive-aggressively deal with the customer.

Grantaire has gone through one third of the bottle by the time Eponine gets back. She immediately plucks it from his hand. Rather than struggle for it Grantaire accepts his miserable lot and slumps forward with a whimper.

“Remember your face.” She sighs, picking up a bag of ice wrapped in a towel that Grantaire keeps forgetting. She presses it to his left cheek where an impressive bruise is forming and places one of his hands on top of it to hold it in place. “And I'm gonna need a little context here, R. Everybody has been acting weird since you two showed up and I've never gotten around to figuring out what exactly your relationship is.”

“I'm sorry, you should know about that.” Grantaire says “It was my fault, and you should have been there but I couldn't wait. I don't know how to fix it now and we can't just tell you. I'm sorry, you deserve better than this.” The ice drops out of his hand again. Grantaire decides to use it as a pillow rather than bothering to pick it up again.

“...You're talking about what happened that weekend I was gone.” Eponine guesses.

“You have a younger brother, right? Courfe – Corwin told me. Said he was doing great in school.”

“Yeah, he's a terrifying little genius. But that's not what we were talking about – although your creepy interest in my little brother is noted and we'll definitely revisit that one.” Eponine says, poking at Grantaire's arm. “But I was asking for context. You're in love with him?”

“You might say that. I'm not sure that covers it.” Grantaire manages. 

“And he knows that?” Eponine continues

“Everybody knows that.” Grantaire says weakly

“Then your roommate is much more of an asshole than I ever imagined him capable of. You want me to beat him up for you?” Eponine offers.

“I don't have any honor to defend.”

“I'll still do it if you want me to.” Eponine promises. “But Grantaire, I think maybe you should move out.”

“I can't.” Grantaire says, raising his head enough to look up at her. “He's _everything_. He's - He's the sun, and I'm a planet circling him – the...one of the little ones? If he wasn't there I wouldn't be moving. I'd just be falling through the empty void with no light and no direction. I remember that much from before. I was...everything is better with him there.” 

“That's one of the most unhealthy things I have ever heard.” Eponine says.

“Healthy is so far beyond me. It's just about getting out of bed every morning.” Grantaire mumbles before dropping his head down onto the bag of ice again. “Can I have the bottle back now?”

Eponine sighs loudly before taking hold of a handful of Grantaire's hair and tipping his head upwards. “We stop when you can't stand on your own.” She says firmly. “I will be checking.”

“You're _amazing_.” Grantaire says.

“Yeah, yeah. You won't think so tomorrow when the hangover hits.” She grumbles, handing him the bottle again. Grantaire hugs it gratefully to his chest.

She does check. Every fifteen minutes the first hour - or what Grantaire blearily judges to be the first hour. After that the traffic in the bar picks up and she has much less time to babysit him. This is good for Grantaire, who suspects he will soon be failing her test. On the other hand, it makes it much harder to get a refill. He eventually charms a nearly full bottle of vodka out of another bartender while Eponine's back is turned. That bottle turns out to be the tipping point, because after that his mind gets the distant quality Grantaire has been pursuing all day – muffled, like he's hearing his own thoughts through a thick wall.

Everything that follows is very...floaty. 

“Crap.” Eponine says, looking down at him from much higher than seems reasonable. 

Oh, he's on the floor.

He doesn't remember the finer points, but he assumes that he fell off his chair. After several attempts it becomes clear that he can't get up again, so he makes himself comfortable hugging the legs of the chair. This is perfectly fine. He has gotten up close and personal with floors in bars much dirtier than this. Some of them had goats – Only...oh no. He can't reach his bottle from here.

“Grantaire.” 

It takes several seconds for Grantaire to focus his eyes, but when he finally succeeds it is worth the effort.

“Hi!” Grantaire slurs enthusiastically, smiling up at Courfeyrac. He reaches out for him but his hand misses.

“R.” Courfeyrac says, crouching down and kindly taking Grantaire's flailing hand in his. “I think you've had enough for now.”

Grantaire squints up at him, considering. “For now...” He agrees reluctantly.

“Good.” Courfeyrac says and lightly touches Grantaire's left cheek with a frown. “You've had a rough day, huh?” 

“It's better now. Can't feel my chest anymore – Marius!” Grantaire exclaims, recognizing the man-shaped blur behind Courfeyrac. “Le Baron Pontmercy. Well met.”

“Hello. Let's get you up from there shall we?” Marius says. He grips Grantaire's arm and then everything gets a little more blurred than before as he pulls Grantaire onto his feet.

“Woah.” Grantaire slurs, dropping face first into Marius' chest. Marius steadies him with a hand on his back, easily taking Grantaire's weight.

“Let him crash on your couch tonight.” Eponine orders from somewhere nearby.

“We have Maria's car tonight. We can -” Courfeyrac begins

“No.” Eponine interrupts. “Don't take him home. I've been watching him for hours and I'm telling you to let him crash on your couch.”

“Eponine is the best.” Grantaire mutters into Marius chest.

“We will.” Marius promises Eponine. “Don't worry, we've got him now. We'll take care of him.”

“Good.” Eponine says, and Grantaire feels a small hand pat his back.

“Thank you for calling us.” Courfeyrac says and Eponine responds with something that Grantaire misses, because at that moment Marius lifts him up and for a while he is so busy figuring out where the ground went that he loses touch with his hearing.

“Ground?” Grantaire manages, blinking to get his orientation back. It's very hard, everything is...moving.

“Please don't puke, R.” Marius says, and then Grantaire is being sat down again, which is...not a good idea because Grantaire legs are lazy traitors that won't work at the moment. But no, Marius knows and keeps Grantaire up with a firm grip on his arm.

“You're strong.” Grantaire notes. Then he looks around in surprise because they're outside. He doesn't remember going out of any doors.

“He's a werewolf, Grantaire.” Courfeyrac says.

“I know _that_.” Grantaire scoffs, while Courfeyrac unlocks a car Grantaire manages to recognize as Cosette's after a great deal of concentration.

They guide him into the backseat of the car and Courfeyrac buckles the seat belt for him. Grantaire remembers to murmur a thank you, which earns him a strangely sad look and a kiss on the forehead from Courfeyrac.

As the engine starts with a worrying rattle Grantaire decides that holding his head up takes too much effort and lets it drop back against the seat. There's something hovering on the edge of his awareness – something that gives him a lurch of dread every time his skittering thoughts stumbles too close to it. He deliberately distracts himself by imagining Marius as a puppy – an adorable puppy-wolf-cub following around in Cosette's footsteps. His thoughts tumble along on a much more pleasant track after that.

Grantaire must drift off for a while there because the next he's aware the car is standing still and Courfeyrac is unbuckling him again.

“Hi.” Grantaire rasps

“Hi” Courfeyrac answers, cupping Grantaire's cheek carefully. “I'd forgotten how bad you used to get.”

“I'm a mess.” Grantaire says.

“A little bit.” Courfeyrac agrees. “It's okay, we'll look after you. We love you, you know.”

Something twists painfully in Grantaire's chest, and he shifts his head away from Courfeyrac's hand in discomfort. If Courfeyrac notices he doesn't comment, and then Marius is there and Grantaire is being lifted again. One of his arms is pulled over Marius' shoulder and Marius has a tight grip around Grantaire's waist, holding Grantaire high enough that his feet doesn't drag on the ground.

“Okay?” Marius asks.

“You're really strong.” Grantaire says solemnly, letting his head drop to lean against Marius' shoulder.

Courfeyrac sighs as Marius starts walking them toward their building.

“I'm really considering having Joly check you out. Not that we could be sure with you - Can you even get alcohol poisoning?” Courfeyrac says as they reach the street door.

“Haven't yet.” Grantaire says.

“I guess that means no then?” Courfeyrac says tentatively, holding the door open for Marius. “Does he smell sick?”

“No...” Marius says, drawing it out a little. “Not of sickness.” He says, his tone making it clear that Grantaire's does smell of something, but apparently unwilling to elaborate further than that.

“You know...” Courfeyrac begins hesitantly. “One person who would know for sure if he's okay...”

“I don't think that's a good idea, Courf. Not tonight.” Marius says firmly, his grip tightening a little on Grantaire.

Courfeyrac pauses briefly with a guilty look before taking a couple of quick steps to catch up to Marius again. “Sorry, I know. Just – you didn't see him today - but I know we shouldn't. We promised Ariel too. She would find out and beat us up.”

“Beat _you_ up.” Marius corrects.

“Eponine is amazing.” Grantaire remembers. He raises his head enough to look around and blinks in confusion when he can't find her. “Where..?”

“She's back at the bar, remember?” Marius says. “She called and had us take you home.”

“Oh.” Grantaire says and lets his head drop again. “You're amazing too. For coming and getting me. For coming...” 

“Of course we came. We've been worried all day-” Courfeyrac interjects

“...back.” Grantaire finishes. “Thank you for coming back.”

Courfeyrac makes a surprised noise.

“We didn't have much control over that.” Marius points out. He stops walking and shifts his grip on Grantaire slightly. “Courfeyrac, the door.” He prompts.

“No, you – Especially _you_.” Grantaire insists. “There's two ways, I was told. You either die before your time or you get separated from someone you love. And you...you didn't die. And when you did you had grandchildren, which...it can't be too soon if you're a grandfather. It's still crap but it's natural, more or less - circle of life. So you, you you _you_ -You must have loved us very much, to come here, to come back to us.” Grantaire says, and when's he's done he has started sliding downward.

“...You knew?” Marius says. His face has turned very pale.

“Marius.” Courfeyrac says, quickly stepping in and taking some of Grantaire's weight before he gets too close to the ground. “Inside, okay?”

Marius nods shortly. He lifts Grantaire up again and carries him through the door and all the way across the apartment to the couch. As soon as Grantaire is settled on the couch Marius tilts his head up to look at him.

“Grantaire, you _knew_.” He says urgently.

“I saw you with Cosette. She was pregnant.” Grantaire says. “I don't know why she's back too, it doesn't fit. She was older than you when she died and she didn't lose anyone that I know of.” Grantaire tries rubbing at his eye but only hits his own cheek. He frowns at his hand and tries again. And again. Marius takes his hand and stops his fourth try.

“R...”

“I think she's here because you are.” Grantaire says. “You two are epic. True love. It's powerful, transcends....stuff. I think she followed you here. _I'm_ a useless mess and I know I would happily abandon whatever eternal resting place - ” Grantaire stops abruptly, a thought occurring. “Enjolras.”

Courfeyrac pushes Marius aside and takes his spot by Grantaire's head “What about him?” He asks carefully.

“You have to call him. Tell him I'm here.” Grantaire says. He manages to grab hold of Courfeyrac's t-shirt on the first try and looks up at him, willing him to understand the importance of this.

Courfeyrac hesitates. “Are you sure?” He asks, brushing some hair out of Grantaire's face.

“Don't want him to get upset.” Grantaire sighs “He worries if I don't come home.”

“Okay. I'll call him for you.” Courfeyrac says, wearing a strange expression Grantaire can't place.

“Thanks.” Grantaire murmurs and lets his hand slip out of Coufeyrac's t-shirt. 

Grantaire's eyes slips closed as Courfeyrac steps away. Sleeping seems like a good idea about now. He's safe in his friend's apartment, lying in a comfy couch and he has made sure Enjolras won't be upset. There's still the looming sense of something he's forgotten, but he assumes there's a very good reason he has drunk enough to temporarily forget about it.

“Grantaire?” Marius calls, touching his shoulder lightly.

“Mmh?” Grantaire answers without opening his eyes.

Marius sighs and moves away. Grantaire's shoes are pulled off his feet and a moment later a blanket settles over him. It smells a little of Courfeyrac, but mostly of Cosette. It's their best blanket, the softest and cuddliest according to Courfeyrac.

“Get some sleep. We'll talk tomorrow.” Marius says softly. Grantaire answers with a low hum before following the suggestion.

***

Grantaire doesn't think he's slept very long by the time he drifts back awake. It's still dark outside and the floaty quality to everything has only diminished marginally if at all. Courfeyrac and Marius are both gone, but there's a hand curled around Grantaire's in a familiar tight grip. 

“Apollo.” Grantaire murmurs. “What're you doing there?” Grantaire turns his head until he can see Enjolras properly. His cheek is resting on the edge of the couch a couple of inches from Grantaire, watching him silently. He must be sitting on the floor which seems wrong to Grantaire. If only one of them can lie on the couch, Grantaire should surely be the one kneeling on the floor?

“Courfeyrac let me in.” Enjolras says, sounding oddly hesitant.

“Oh. I told him to call you.” Grantaire remembers and can't help smiling. Enjolras is here.

“You did. Thank you.” Enjolras whispers and pulls their joined hands closer to press a small kiss to the back of Grantaire's hand. Which is....odd for Enjolras. Grantaire blinks a couple of time, trying to process it. Enjolras has never done that to Grantaire before...probably? Grantaire's mind is a little spotty right now.

“What happened to your face?” Enjolras asks and lifts his free hand to hover over Grantaire's left cheek. It takes Grantaire a few moments to figure out what he's referring to.

“One of Eponine's girls. She missed her mark a little. Great right hook - Very proud.” Grantaire smiles and leans his head toward Enjolras' hand. “You can touch. Nothing hurts right now.”

“That's not a good thing, R.” Enjolras says, something fragile in his voice. He cups Grantaire's face and runs his thumb over the soft skin underneath Grantaire's left eye.

“You're upset.” Grantaire frowns. There is a foreboding niggling at the back of his mind. This seems deeper than Enjolras' usual fuzzing over Grantaire's drinking. 

“And you're very drunk.” Enjolras says, smiling sadly. “You should sleep. It can wait until tomorrow. Can I – Do you mind if I stay here?”

“...why would I mind?” Grantaire asks confused, a sinking feeling in his stomach. There's something horrible starting to surface that his mind shies away from. Trying to drown out the sound of his own thoughts hurtling toward disaster, Grantaire continues: “I always want you here. Everything is better when you're here. You don't even have to do anything, just being _you_ , breathing, existing-”

“Grantaire?” Enjolras interrupts softly. “If I tell you the same goes for you, will you believe me?”

That does it. Grantaire hadn't forgotten it, really, had simply buried it very very deep, but now it returns to the forefront of Grantaire's mind in painful clarity. It starts clawing on his insides again with renewed force, the feeling of betrayal rising up his throat like bile. He doesn't know how he managed all those hours before the liquor did its job and covered it up for him because he _can't stand it_ and he wants it to bury itself again, he needs it to _stop_.

Grantaire doesn't know what noise he makes or if it's just from his expression, but Enjolras knows and shoots up. He catches Grantaire's face between both his hands and shushes him, presses their foreheads together and whispers, words spoken in a continuous stream, too hurried to be soothing.

“I didn't lie, I didn't lie, I wouldn't do that to you, I know you I know what that would do to you and I would _never_ Grantaire youhavetoknowthatImeantitIdidIdo-”

Grantaire shakes his head, weakly tries twisting away from Enjolras but can't get far because his own hands are clutching at Enjolras' shirt. He can't make himself let go. His halfhearted attempt at getting away makes Enjolras stop talking at least. He even pulls away a little, but doesn't get far before his effort is stopped by Grantaire's tight grip as well. Grantaire laughs soundlessly, painfully, short puffs of air escaping in weak gasps.

“I'm sorry.” Enjolras whispers, his hand hovering anxiously in the air above Grantaire, not daring to touch. “What do you want?”

“You can't ask me that.” Grantaire says and scrapes together enough self-control to tilt his head away from Enjolras' hovering hand. “That gets us nowhere. I'm pathetic, you see.”

“You're not pathetic.” Enjolras says firmly.

“I love you,” Grantaire whimpers. “And it's the best part of me, but sometimes you make it hurt so much.”

Enjolras goes very still, his chest changing into stone where Grantaire's hands press against it. “Grantaire...” Enjolras whispers pained. Grantaire closes his eyes so he doesn't have to see his expression. He takes a deep breath and manages to wrench one of his hands out of Enjolras' shirt.

“How do you think the sun felt when Icarus came too close and fell to his death? Do you think it noticed at all?” Grantaire asks.

“You're not Icarus.” Enjolras says.

“No, because I'm smart enough to keep my distance – or I thought I was, but then you went out of your way to...” Grantaire trails off, waving unsteadily with his now free hand. He can't end that sentence. 

“You're not Icarus. And I'm not the sun.” Enjolras repeats. “I meant what I said, I didn't lie. You are-”

Grantaire interrupts him with a desperate noise of protest and shakes his head furiously. He lets go of Enjolras with his other hand so he can cover both of his ears.

“Okay, okay. Shh...I won't talk about it now.” Enjolras soothes and very carefully takes both of Grantaire's hands, pulling them away from his ears. Grantaire lets his hands go limp at Enjolras' touch, seeing no point in making the pretense of resisting him. 

Enjolras lifts Grantaire's hands and pauses, simply holding them for a moment looking conflicted, either unsure what to do with them or unwilling to let go again. After several seconds of hesitation he places Grantaire's hands on the couch on either side of his head. 

“You should sleep.” Enjolras says. “Do you mind if I stay?”

“Haven't we already done that one?” Grantaire whines.

Enjolras sighs deeply, his whole body moving with it. Grantaire feels the press of it against his hand, which has somehow moved back up of its own accord and is clinging to Enjolras' shirt again.

“I'll stay.” Enjolras says and Grantaire's breath catches a little; relieved and hating himself for it. He is used to Enjolras making him feel better whenever something is wrong with him – He is used to Enjolras being the _only thing_ to make him feel better when his mind starts tearing itself apart. Grantaire is feeling worse than he's felt in years and he still can't stop himself from wanting Enjolras there - even though Grantaire knows, he _knows_ he is excruciatingly _aware_ \- that Enjolras is the cause of it. 

“Okay.” Grantaire says and feels Enjolras' chest lose some tension under his hand. 

“Tomorrow.” Enjolras murmurs softly, hopefully. “We'll fix this tomorrow.” He reaches down and cups Grantaire's cheek again with the lightest of touches. Grantaire snorts weakly – doubting that pronouncement - but still tilts his head into Enjolras hand. He can only stretch himself so far. Today has been unendingly painful and he suspects tomorrow will be even worse. Grantaire gives in, relaxing and letting the mix of relief and misery that is Enjolras' presence lull him to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Grantaire wakes to the sound of quiet voices and instantly regrets doing so.

”God.” Grantaire groans and presses a hand to his forehead where it is pounding painfully. The hushed conversation that woke him stops abruptly. A short beat of silence follows and then quick footsteps come his way.

“R” Enjolras says, touching the back of Grantaire's hand lightly. “Here.”

Grantaire cracks open his eyes with a wince. Enjolras is offering a handful of pills, which Grantaire gratefully swallows down. Enjolras picks up a glass of water from the coffee table and helps Grantaire sit up to drink from it. The upright position causes a wave of nausea, but at least the water soothes his dry mouth.

Headache, nausea, dry mouth and.... sweating. Yep, it's a hangover, Grantaire thinks drowsily. He doesn't get them often anymore. One perk of his alcohol tolerance is that he doesn't easily get hangovers. The downside is that when he does get them they're always spectacular specimens – as if to make up for all the smaller ones he misses. He must have gone off the deep end last night to... 

Oh. Oh no, Grantaire thinks and freezes. 

….And there's the clawing chest pain again.

Enjolras sits on the edge of the coffee table, watching Grantaire. Behind him Courfeyrac is standing in the no man's land between the couch area and the kitchen door, visibly wavering over whether to leave the room or join them. Grantaire is desperately trying to think up something to make him stay when Enjolras breaks the silence.

“We need to talk.” Enjolras says, and Courfeyrac turns on a dime and disappears into the kitchen.

“Do we really?” Grantaire counters, and god, talking does not help with the insistent pounding in his head. “Can't we just pretend yesterday didn't happen? I hated yesterday. I'll drop the bed thing, I promise, I won't bring it up again, and we can – we can just forget yesterday.”

“ _It's not about the bed_ \- ” Enjolras hisses, before catching himself and stopping. Grantaire avoids looking at Enjolras, reverting his eyes to look mournfully after Courfeyrac. There's no reason courfeyrac couldn't have stayed. It's not as if he can't hear what they're saying from in there anyway. There's no actual door in the doorway to the kitchen.

“No, we're not just dropping it.” Enjolras continues, more calm but still with an edge. “I'm going to tell you again, and you have to let me explain it properly this time – don't jump to conclusions before I finish.”

“No.” Grantaire says, panic rising. This looks alarmingly like yesterday, Enjolras sitting on the coffee table, Grantaire in the couch – only this time he has a pounding headache and the knowledge of just how painful this can get. “I'm not doing this again.” 

He doesn't think he can get over the back of the couch without hurting himself this time, so he chances going the regular way and hopes Enjolras doesn't try to block him. Enjolras does let him pass, but grabs after Grantaire's hand on the way.

“Gran-” Enjolras protests, their fingers brushing before Grantaire twists away clumsily. It's not a smart move. The jerky turn makes his stomach protest, nausea taking over, and then there's acid pushing up his throat - and suddenly he's not so much trying to get away from Enjolras, but rather trying to get to the kitchen before he vomits all over the living room. 

He attempts swallowing with little success and has to clamp a hand over his mouth. In the end he just manages to get to the kitchen sink in time for his stomach to contract one more time, and then Grantaire's retching into the sink. One, two, three times – out goes the pills and whatever is left of the sandwich Eponine made him eat last night, and it feels like his head is being split apart each time. There's a brief pause where he gets a few shaky breaths, and then his stomach contracts again and he retches two times more – and it's so unnecessary because there is nothing left to push out. His insides are twisting up and trying to come out of his throat for no reason at all. 

When it finally stops he is left hanging over the sink, shaking all over and sweating, his head feeling like someone took a power saw to it and wishing for sudden, instant death.

A hand starts rubbing up and down Grantaire's back. “You okay?” Courfeyrac asks 

“Is my skull still in one piece?” Grantaire asks weakly.

Courfeyrac's hand pauses between Grantaire's shoulder blades, pressing down for a moment, before it resumes moving. “Yes.” Courfeyrac answers.

“Then I'm good.” Grantaire says. “Never been better.” 

“You want to try some pills again?” Courfeyrac suggests.

“Please.” Grantaire says, transferring his weight from the sink back to his feet. “Either you give me some kind of painkiller or euthanasia is the only humane solution.”

“That's not funny.” Courfeyrac sighs, hand drifting up to squeeze at the back of Grantaire's neck. “Think you'll be able to keep it down?”

“Apollo can help.” Grantaire says, turning around to look at Enjolras who's standing not far behind them as expected. Enjolras looks startled at the suggestion. Grantaire would never ask normally, not for something self-induced. But this time Enjolras is definitely to blame as well.

“If you're sure?” Enjolras asks hesitantly.

“I think you owe me this one.” Grantaire says.

Courfeyrac mutters something under his breath too low for Grantaire to catch, but which is apparently loud enough for Enjolras, who sends Courfeyrac a questioning look. “Never mind.” Courfeyrac says sounding exasperated. He turns on the faucet and fixes his eye on the sink, pointedly looking at the vomit washing away rather than at them.

“That's not what I was asking you.” Enjolras says, returning his attention to Grantaire with resigned frustration. He sighs and moves into Grantaire's space before Grantaire can think of a scathing response. 

Grantaire forces himself to stay still as Enjolras touches a hand to the side of his head, ignoring both his first urge to lean into the touch, and then the second urge to flinch away. Enjolras doesn't need to touch Grantaire for this, but Grantaire doesn't have the energy to argue about it with him. Not if allowing the touch means he will be able to swallow painkillers sooner.

“ **Calm. You're going to be fine.** ” Enjolras says, and Grantaire feels his body relaxing on his next exhale, his muscles loosening as Enjolras' voice washes over him. Soothing heat runs down his spine and he slumps back against the sink while his eyes slides closed. Enjolras' hand moves a little, his fingers shifting deeper into Grantaire's hair. “ **You can keep it down. - There** , good.”

“Good.” Grantaire echoes faintly,and then has to shake himself mentally to take stock. His heartbeat has slowed and the subtle shaking of his limb has stopped. The insistent pounding of his head even seems to have eased a little, although that might just be some placebo effect of Enjolras being close. 

“Okay?” Courfeyrac asks.

“Yes. Try again now.” Enjolras answers and steps back out of Grantaire's space – which saves Grantaire from having to gather the resolve to move himself. A cup is pressed against Grantaire's hand, and he remembers to open his eyes so he can accept the pills Courfeyrac is offering. He swallows them all at once and then uses what's left of the water to rinse out the horrible taste in his mouth.

“You know, I think I could hear that, the difference when you.... ehm.” Courfeyrac tells Enjolras, trying for casual and missing by a bit. “Or I felt it, actually, more than I heard it.”

“It goes straight to the bones. Feels that way anyway.” Grantaire agrees. “You know, he could mess with your head too if he put some effort into it.” He adds a little viciously – and stupidly, considering how Enjolras had just made a point of asking for permission to stop Grantaire from vomiting – stupid considering this is _Enjolras_.

“Thanks. I know that.” Courfeyrac sighs.

“I wouldn't do that.” Enjolras says. As far as Enjolras goes it's with a minimum of his usual fierceness, which means he's aware Grantaire was only saying it out of spite. Grantaire feels a little relieved at that, he couldn't deal with Enjolras' vampire-issues right now.

“No, you wouldn't.” Grantaire agrees tiredly. No, Enjolras' brand of cruelty comes in an entirely different flavor. Grantaire rubs at his eyes – and winces as his left cheek protests painfully at being poked.

“I do love you. So much.” Enjolras says sounding wrecked.

Grantaire recoils. “ _Stop_ \- stop it!” he hisses, which doesn't do his headache any favors, and moves away, needing more space between them. He nearly collides with Courfeyrac in his hurry, but manages to increase the distance with a few feet and the small kitchen table.

“If you would -” Enjolras presses

“If you don't stop I will make a run for it.” Grantaire interrupts. His words is somewhat belied by the way he is currently holding on to a kitchen chair for support, but Enjolras knows that Grantaire is not one to let the weakness of his body stop him when he makes up his mind. “And you don't have it in you to try and stop me – not after what happened last time.”

Enjolras falters for a moment, thrown by the reminder of his almost-order from the day before. “How long are you planning on avoiding this conversation?” He manages – not contradicting Grantaire's conclusion. “Of the two of us, do you really think I will be the first to give up?”

“I'm not trying to out-stubborn you, I'm waiting for you to _regain your mind!_ ” Grantaire answers, yelling this time. 

“So I've lost my mind - since yesterday I suppose? - and I'm _still_ not myself?” Enjolras asks, incredulous. “Is that what you believe is happening here? That seems like a plausible explanation to you?”

“More plausible than it being true – Yes!”

Enjolras' face drops, a pained expression replacing the incredulity.

“Christ, I don't know which one of you deserves to be hit over the head more right now.” Courfeyrac says, gesturing between them.

“Make it me.” Enjolras says in a quiet voice.

“Christ.” Courfeyrac mutters again and runs a hand through his hair. “Grantaire, sit down before you fall over. You're not going anywhere.”

“I'm not going to fall over.” Grantaire grumbles under his breath, but sits down nonetheless. He picks a chair that gives him a clear path to the exit.

“Do you remember what day it is?” Courfeyrac asks Grantaire.

“It's...Saturday?” Grantaire answers, frowning at Courfeyrac and suspecting some kind of trap behind the question.

“The werewolves.” Enjolras prompts.

Grantaire straightens in his chair. “We're supposed to talk with the werewolves today.”

“Yes.” Courfeyrac says. “Although I think we would do better to move it to another day.”

“No.” Grantaire protests at the same time as Enjolras says “We can't.” Startled, Grantaire accidentally meets Enjolras' eyes, before quickly averting his gaze again.

“Next week is the full moon. They'll only get more aggressive the closer we get to it.” Enjolras continues – after Grantaire has demonstratively disengaged by slumping back in his seat and crossing his arms. “And canceling would be a sign of weakness.”

“Especially since we can't tell them why we're canceling.” Grantaire can't help adding. “Airing me and Apollo's issues wouldn't reflect well on us.”

“In that case you have little over four hours to get your shit together.” Courfeyrac says, which Grantaire senses is directed mostly toward him. 

“Speaking of werewolves.” Grantaire changes the subject. “Where's our Baron? With the Baroness?”

“Cosette is visiting her mother this weekend.” Courfeyrac reminds him.

“- And Marius is hiding in his room.” Enjolras finishes, sounding like this bit of information has been bothering him for a while now. He glances questioningly at Courfeyrac and Grantaire congratulates himself for picking an excellent distraction.

And then he remembers a conversation from last night and silently curses himself to hell instead.

“I told him.” Grantaire says, and although the words are ambiguous, Enjolras seems to pick up his meaning from his horrified tone of voice.

“You told him?!” Enjolras says. “Grantaire, why would you -”

“I was so drunk I couldn't stand! And I have no practice keeping secrets from any of them.” Grantaire says “I warned you this would happen if I was alone with him.”

“Why were you keeping it a secret at all?” Marius says, appearing in the doorway and making Grantaire jump in his seat.

“We were going to tell you.” Enjolras says.

“When?” Marius asks, and his voice is surprisingly cold for Marius. “You know when would have been a good time? Two weeks ago, when we got our memories back.”

“That was my fault.” Grantaire admits. “I was avoiding - I didn't think. And I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have told you like that.”

“You left me.” Marius says, his voice cracking on the second word. “You knew I was alive and you left me – you left me there thinking...thinking I was the only one left. I talked with your sister.” Marius tells Grantaire, who straightens in surprise. “And she – either she didn't know or she was lying to me.”

“She didn't know.” Grantaire says numbly. “We weren't...mobile the first year after. Didn't go visiting anyone for a while.”

“And after?” Marius demands, looking to Enjolras.

“Grantaire went back to Paris two years after. I couldn't go because-”

“Because there were rumors about you, after your body disappeared.” Marius interrupts darkly. “Yes, I knew all about those.”

“Oh,” Enjolras breathes, flinching, before continuing. “We didn't know about you until Grantaire found you. And...then Cosette was pregnant.”

“You were _so happy_ , Marius.” Grantaire says, old wonder slipping into his voice. 

This is one of the few things Grantaire remembers clearly from those first years after the barricade. Cosette had looked so big that Grantaire had thought the baby might come any minute. She'd been lovely, glowing with life and love as she waddled through the park, constantly turning her face upwards to smile at her husband, who obligingly bestowed a small kiss on her face every time she did so. Marius had looked back at her with such utter adoration that no one could doubt he would have blown himself up on the barricade for the loss of her. 

Grantaire remembers feeling wrong and dirty looking at them, a herald of misery and destruction, like a plague rat that might infect them with his own malaise should he get too close to them. He distinctly remembers a tightness in his chest and missing Enjolras' presence so so much, because it had been the first time in two years Grantaire had gone anywhere without him. He'd practically fled Paris in his hurry to get back to Enjolras – who had seemed just as unsettled by the separation as Grantaire.

“It had been two years and you were so happy, both of you. Two years and we were barely functional.” Grantaire says. 

“If you think I just forgot and moved on-” Marius growls, before he cuts himself off with a frustrated noise and a violent hand gesture. 

“Marius, do you want your stress ball?” Courfeyrac cuts in. 

Marius shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose, breathing out heavily. It's only then that Grantaire notices the way he is twitching, little flexes of muscles all over his body, and remembers that Marius is a werewolf and the full moon is next week. Grantaire glances at Enjolras, who is watching Marius intently but hasn't moved at all. It's a testament to how much he trusts Marius, considering how Enjolras usually is about Grantaire and werewolves.

“We never thought you forgot. But you did move on, as you should have, Marius. We couldn't. We weren't... weren't well for a very long time.” Enjolras says. “We – I needed to leave France and you were happy and having a baby, so we left you. And then we lost track of time. When we came back your hair was turning gray and it seemed.... Too late.” Enjolras pauses and slowly takes a few deliberate steps in Marius direction. When Marius doesn't acknowledge him by saying anything or looking up Enjolras continues softly. “I'm not trying to excuse it. We should never have left you. I've regretted it ever since, and I'm so sorry. But at least we didn't just leave you, we left you with Cosette. We knew she'd take care of you. That you'd be happy with her. We made sure.”

“You made sure?” Marius questions flatly, finally looking up at Enjolras.

“After we came back to France I checked in every few years.” Grantaire says. Marius whirls around to send him a look with more anger than Grantaire remembers ever having seen on his face before.

“You _checked in?!_ For _years_ you were spying on me, but you never once took the time to tell me you _weren't dead?!_ ” Marius explodes, words starting out in a growl, but changing into a full-out roar by the end. He slams his hand down on the kitchen table, causing a worrying crack from the wood. Years of practice keeps Grantaire from flinching away. Like most predators, werewolves are more inclined to chase a moving object than a still one. 

In a blink Enjolras is standing next to Grantaire's chair - once again showing great trust by not placing himself directly between Marius and Grantaire. No, Courfeyrac is the one who does that, seconds later.

“ _Marius_.” Courfeyrac snaps, grabbing Marius by the shoulders and shaking him. Or attempting to shake him. Marius' body doesn't budge much despite Courfeyrac's clear efforts.

“Sorry.” Marius tells Courfeyrac, pulling his hand away from the table as if stung. Then he looks over Courfeyrac's shoulder and meets Enjolras' eyes.

“This is the worst thing you have ever done.” Marius tells him before turning and leaving. They hear him slam the door to his room.

Courfeyrac sighs heavily and turns around to look at them. “You know, he's handling this better than I would.”

“He's handling it better than I deserve.” Enjolras says, looking so very tired. Grantaire remembers the day they heard Marius had died, and how Enjolras had crawled into Grantaire's bed the next night and cried on Grantaire's shoulder until he fell asleep with exhaustion.

“Still don't think we should cancel with the werewolves?” Courfeyrac asks.

“Does Marius want us to cancel? He's the one they have been bothering.” Enjolras says, and he's taking small halting steps toward the doorway, unsure whether to follow Marius or not.

“No, he doesn't.” Courfeyrac admits. “Not unless he's CHANGED HIS MIND SINCE THIS MORNING?” He continues, raising his voice and looking to the wall to Marius' room. No answer comes and Courfeyrac sighs again. “Guess that means no.”

“You know he can hear you fine like this, right?” Grantaire asks.

Courfeyrac waves his hand dismissively in response and drops into a chair next to Grantaire. “Four hours it is then.” He says with fake cheer. “Go apologize some more. Let him tell you what you put him through.”

Enjolras, who was already standing halfway through the doorway, doesn't need telling twice. He's gone before Courfeyrac finishes speaking, knocking on Marius' door and going in before they can hear a response. Grantaire doesn't hear Enjolras close the door behind him, presumably because he expects Grantaire to follow. And Grantaire does mean to, is on his way out of the chair – but then Enjolras is gone and Grantaire can palpably feel tension leave the room with him. He breathes in and it seems like the first full lungful he's had since waking up.

If he goes to apologize Enjolras will be there. If he doesn't go, well...

He's truly a horrible person, Grantaire thinks, but having made the decision is such a relief. It's a coward's relief he knows, the relief of postponing something inevitable rather than facing it head one, but a relief nonetheless. 

He gets out of the chair quickly, anxious to take advantage of this window of opportunity.

“Grantaire?” Courfeyrac questions when Grantaire walks over to the fridge, rather than following Enjolras.

“If you expect me to be of any use today I'm gonna need something.” Grantaire says, feeling lightheaded. He rips a page from the pad on the fridge, grabs a pen from the cup full of them in the windowsill and turns on the faucet on his way back to the table and Courfeyrac – creating white noise. It's not loud enough to keep Enjolras and Marius from hearing them, but it might make a difference combined with the fact that they should both be very distracted right now.

“Because in case you haven't noticed I'm not on top form today” Grantaire continues, struggling to write with shaking hands.

“I noticed.” Courfeyrac says, reaching out to steady Grantaire's hands. Grantaire pulls away before he can make contact and hurriedly finishes by underlining a word with a flourish. He folds the note twice and slides it over to Courfeyrac before stepping back. 

Courfeyrac glances at him warily – having to twist around to do so because Grantaire has placed himself halfway behind his back – and Grantaire suspects that Courfeyrac can already tell where this is going. He still picks the note up though, and as soon as he starts unfolding Grantaire is out of the door.

 _I need space_, the note says, _give me 2 hours_.

***

Grantaire does know that Enjolras loves him.

Enjolras loves _everybody_ ; every child, woman and man, and will go to his death defending each and everyone of them and their rights. Simply by being a person, Grantaire has earned that. The utter surety of this fact is not a little thing, not a little thing at all. There is more to Enjolras' feelings for Grantaire than this all-encompassing love, but this simple constant is especially important because it is the only scrap of Enjolras' affection Grantaire has earned by something intrinsic to himself. 

Everything else is circumstantial.

They all died. They all died and left Enjolras with no-one but Grantaire. Which is the worst possible trade-off Grantaire can imagine. There had been Marius of course, but they hadn't known that at first. Either way he had died too, years later. Enjolras had only had Grantaire left, and Grantaire had tried taking every vacated role upon himself - with varying degrees of success. For 182 years Grantaire has been Enjolras' safety blanket. And so Enjolras loves Grantaire and needs him. But it's not for anything to do with Grantaire. It's because he's a placeholder, the only one left. 

And while that may be enough for Enjolras to care for Grantaire, there's no reason at all for him to love Grantaire the way he's been claiming to. There's no way Grantaire would ever be capable of earning that from him.

_“I always want you here. Everything is better when you're here. You don't even have to do anything, just being you, breathing, existing...”_

_“Grantaire, If I tell you the same goes for you, will you believe me?”_

Fuck, Grantaire thinks, and starts crying. He is on his way to the shower when it happens and ends up sinking to the floor next to the tub, half-naked and mortified by how the sound of his sobs echo in the bathroom. Grantaire tries muffling the noise with the t-shirt he's just taken of, but it smells of Enjolras and he has to throw it away from himself. He reaches over a fumbling hand and turns on the faucet instead. The sound of running water thankfully does a decent job of masking the pathetic noises he can't stop making.

Hiding here in the apartment is better than being in the same room as Enjolras, but he still can't stop thinking about it and feeling sorry for himself. He doesn't expect it to stop being painful, but it would help if he could push the thoughts far enough away to handle being around Enjolras with some rationality intact. Just enough to deal with the werewolves without anyone getting hurt.

Grantaire doesn't know how long he sits there before he manages to calm himself down. There's no plug in the drain, so he can't judge time by the level of the water in the tub. It seems like a lot of water must have been wasted before Grantaire finally gathers the energy to kick of his boxers. His legs shake beneath him when he levers himself over the edge of the tub and under the spray of water.

Once clean, clothed and mostly dry Grantaire leans heavily on the sink and looks at his own reflection with some resignation. It isn't apparent he has been crying but he looks exhausted, chewed out. His left cheek has turned blue from the punch yesterday, but hasn't swollen enough to affect his vision and the painkillers has thankfully kicked in by now. He still feels a little dizzy, but that might be because he hasn't eating anything since last night. Wearing clean clothes that doesn't smell like a dirty bar floor and Enjolras helps a great deal though.

He pushes himself away from the sink with a tired, self-pitying sound and goes to look for some food. 

\- Only to freeze in the door when he opens it to find Jehan waiting for him in one of the armchairs.

Jehan has dragged the chair across the floor so it's right in front of the door to the bathroom. As in _right in front of the door_ , Grantaire can't get out of the bathroom without crawling over him. The shower running must have blocked the noise of it from Grantaire. The sound of the shower running has hopefully blocked any noises Grantaire has made from Jehan.

“Courfeyrac called me.” Jehan says in greeting.

“That was nowhere near two hours.” Grantaire sighs, leaning against the doorframe. “An hour at most.”

“After yesterday we're not just letting you disappear again.” Jehan says, folding his arms across his chest. “Although I honestly didn't expect you to be here. I was just checking to cover my bases.”

“I wasn't trying to disappear. I needed a shower.” 

“You need a phone.”

“I don't need a- Never mind. How did you get in?” Grantaire asks.

“I used Combeferre's key.” Jehan shrugs. The story goes that Bousset had once locked himself out of the apartment while Joly was out of town and had slept on couches for two days until Bahorel took the opportunity to teach himself how to pick locks. Since then Combeferre has collected spare keys to everybody's apartments in case of an emergency.

“Okay. Can we move this to the kitchen? I haven't had breakfast yet.” Grantaire asks. 

“Of course.” Jehan says. He crawls over the side of the arm chair and pushes it away from the door, allowing Grantaire to get out. 

“You can bring the chair if you want.” Grantaire suggests, pausing on the way to the kitchen

“Nah, it's fine.” Jehan says. When they reach the kitchen, he jumps up to sit on a counter instead.

Grantaire starts going through cupboards and drawers, hoping to appear too distracted for a conversation. They don't have enough cupboards to keep that charade alive for long though. He can feel Jehan's eyes on him while he studies the content of the fridge.

“Are you coming to the werewolf-thing today?” Grantaire asks finally, closing the fridge with a defeated air.

“No.” Jehan says. “Courfeyrac and Joly are going and that fills the quota of helpless non-super-humans Enjolras and Marius will allow when we don't have any silver weapons - Well, Courfeyrac has the bullets he stole from the storage unit, but he still doesn't have a gun they fit. So me and Combeferre and Bahorel will play back-up somewhere far enough away that the werewolves can't possibly sense us – Which is apparently a couple of blocks away, so we'll be hard pressed to actually act as back-up if anything does go wrong.”

“Well, we're counting on it not going wrong.” Grantaire tries with a grimace. “We couldn't get something from Cosette? Her dad makes his own silver bullets.”

“They're not home this weekend and it's probably more dangerous to try to 'borrow' some without permission than it is to go see the werewolves without.” Jehan says. “We were all a little distracted yesterday, we forgot to ask before they left.”

“Oh.” Grantaire breathes out, dread settling in his stomach like a heavy stone. He's already regretting it, even before he opens his mouth to ask; “What did Apollo do?”

“Apollo didn't do anything, Grantaire. He was supposed to meet Feuilly for lunch but didn't show up. He didn't pick up his phone, so Feuilly sent Courfeyrac to check on him. When he told Courfeyrac what happened Courf called everybody who wasn't stuck at school or work.” Jehan says. “It's not as if we spent all day searching for you; Enjolras would know if you got hurt. We checked the most obvious places and when you weren't anywhere we figured you didn't want to be found and would show up when you wanted to. We were worried though.”

“I'm not...I _am_ sorry I made you worry, but not that I hid.” Grantaire admits. “It's self-preservation, Jehan. Shockingly I still have some of it.”

“Did you have to hide from all of us, though?” Jehan asks and then adds in a small voice. “Did you think we would take his side?”

Grantaire opens his mouth, but can't answer that. He hadn't... He had been worried Enjolras would send them to look for him, but hadn't considered exactly what Enjolras would have told them, what they're motivation for looking was. He hadn't considered what they would do when they found him. He'd just...assumed they would stop him – from drinking or from avoiding Enjolras, he doesn't know which. So yeah, perhaps he'd assumed they wouldn't be on his side - and that could theoretically put them on Enjolras' side, but only by default and only because he hadn't been thinking _anything_ through at the time.

“I wasn't really thinking at all.” Grantaire says. “But you would have stopped me drinking wouldn't you? Eponine did and she doesn't even know how far I can go when I'm like that.” 

“We probably would.” Jehan agrees, looking relieved at that explanation.

“You know what happened, right? He told Courfeyrac, and Courfeyrac told you...” Grantaire asks. “Did Apollo tell you why?”

“He told Courfeyrac and then he told us - he told us everything. More than he got to tell you. He had to. We knew he'd done something bad. He was a mess and you wouldn't have left him like that unless you had a good reason to.” Jehan says. “And we've been a little concerned about you two, considering...everything. We want to make sure he's not hurting you unintentionally.”

“What about intentionally?” Grantaire says.

“In that case we would kill the imposter and start searching for the real Enjolras.” Jehan says. “R, you know we are very happy that you are saying no to him for once-”

“You didn't think I could, did you?” Grantaire interrupts.

“I know you could. Didn't think you ever would.” 

“I don't have many boundaries left when it comes to him. He found one of them.” Grantaire says.

“R.” Jehan says, reaching a hand out for him. After a moment of hesitation Grantaire takes it, earning a smile from Jehan. 

“It's great you're saying no to him for once.” Jehan begins again, squeezing Grantaire's hand reassuringly. “But in this instance you really need to talk with him.”

“No.” Grantaire says, shaking his head. “Self-preservation, Jehan. I can't -” He tries pulling his hand out of Jehan's, but Jehan tightens his grip rather than letting go. “I can't stand it. He's the most important thing in the entire world and _he keeps lying to me_. Every single time he opens his mouth it hurts.”

“Oh, sweetheart...” Jehan says, and when he pulls on Grantaire's hand, Grantaire doesn't have the strength in him to resist. Grantaire drops forward into Jehan's chest. Arms wrap around his back, holding him close and safe. Grantaire has to take several steadying breaths to stop himself from crying again.

“It's going to be okay.” Jehan soothes, pressing his cheek to the top of Grantaire's head and starts rocking them slowly from side to side. “I promise.” 

Grantaire snorts weakly and wraps his arm around Jehan's middle, relishing in the warmth of the embrace. He presses closer, breathing in Jehan's scent and thinks about how the world is a much better place now that Jehan is in it again.

Eventually, Jehan stops rocking and moves a hand up to ruffle Grantaire's hair.

“What about I make you some breakfast?” Jehan suggest, gently pushing Grantaire back so he can look at him. He touches Grantaire's cheek with a grimace. “You look terrible, you know. Like you could use a few days of bed rest and warm blankets.”

“Gee, thanks.” 

Jehan makes both of them oatmeal with cinnamon and little pieces of apple. Grantaire usually wouldn't touch oatmeal this soon after vomiting – the texture of it sometimes make him queasy – but he's not going to say no to something _Jehan made for him_. Upon testing it proves delicious though and Grantaire happily goes through two bowls. They talk about the girls in Eponine's self-defense class while eating.

“I don't know why you keep calling them girls. Madeleine is old enough to be your mom.” Jehan points out.

“She really isn't.” Grantaire says, just as the front door opens violently, hitting the wall with a bang.

“I can't believe you did that!” Enjolras yells, kicking the door closed behind him before walking into the kitchen. “Hi, Jehan.” He adds more calmly while throwing his keys onto the table, seeming unsurprised to find him there.

“Hi. I was just going.” Jehan says, getting up. He avoids the arms Grantaire clumsily throws out to stop him and goes to drop his bowl in the sink. Then he hurries out of the kitchen, barely pausing to call; “I'll see you two later. Be brave!” 

Grantaire cringes as the front door closes behind Jehan with finality.

“You wrote a note and then ran out on Marius.” Enjolras prompts, crossing his arms.

Grantaire grimaces. “I did. That was really shitty, I know.” Grantaire agrees. He can feel himself twitching to get up and move away from Enjolras, but forces himself to stay put for now. Enjolras won't give him the opportunity to run away again, so he might as well stand his ground. He slowly pushes his empty bowl away and leaves his arms stretched out on the table in front of him in a badly feigned show of ease. It leaves them in easy reach of Enjolras - but with Enjolras' speed anywhere in the room is within easy reach if he puts his mind to it.

“You left him too. It was not just me there.” Enjolras continues, insistently. “I can't believe you ran. He needs to talk to you too.”

“He needs to know _why_ we left him.” Grantaire counters. “Then he needs a lot of apologies, for as long as he wants them. And I will apologize. But the why of why I left can't be a surprise to anyone. You decided to leave, so I left too. If you'd decided to go to him I would have gone too. He needed to talk to you more than me. There's no mystery behind me leaving - what he didn't know was why _you_ decided to leave him. I just followed you as I always do.”

“The last time I decided to leave you tried talking me out of it and when that didn't work you broke the mirror.” Enjolras points out.

“Yeah well, that's _now_ , after two centuries of dealing with you.” Grantaire says “Back then I was scared you'd leave me too.”

Enjolras' eyes glint, and he smiles worryingly. “Whereas now, you know I wouldn't.” He says.

“I thought we were talking about Marius.” Grantaire protests uneasily, realizing his mistake too late.

“If you wanted to talk about Marius, you shouldn't have run out while we were talking about Marius.”

Grantaire breaks then, pushing away from the table. “No.” He mutters to himself, trying to get away while shaking his head. He flees into the living room with Enjolras following right on his heels as expected.

“I love you. You know that, you said so yesterday – even if you believe it is only as a friend.” Enjolras continues. “I love you and I know you and I wouldn't lie to you about this, no matter how upset I was.”

“You said it because you were scared I'd leave. You admitted that.” Grantaire growls and whirls around. Enjolras is so close behind him that Enjolras just barely stops them from colliding.

“The reason I told you doesn't make it any less true.” Enjolras says fervently. “I hadn't said anything before because I thought it was better. It wasn't. I realized that when I thought you were leaving. That's why I told you.”

“Better?” Grantaire spits out in disbelief.

“I shouldn't have hidden it from you, I know. It was...selfish. Courfeyrac yelled at me when I told him. And Combeferre. And Joly a little.”

“And how long have you supposedly kept this from me?” Grantaire asks while backing a few steps away, creating more much needed distance between them because otherwise he might throttle Enjolras. He suspects Enjolras would let him. It's not as if he needs the air.

“Since Germany.” Enjolras says. “It was before that, but I realized in Germany.”

“Oh, bullshit!” Grantaire calls instantly. “Last time we were in Germany I was self-medicating so hard on alcohol that you didn't stop scowling for a month.” It was eight years ago, one of Grantaire's bad years. They had been passing through on their way to Paris from the dark north, because Enjolras had hoped familiar surroundings and more hours of sunlight per day would improve Grantaire's state of mind.

“No, I – why would that matter? – but I meant last time we lived in Germany, not last time we were there. In DDR.” Enjolras corrects.

“That's....that's at least thirty years Apollo. That's _more than thirty years ago_. You're really saying you've been -” _in love with me_. “ - hiding this from me for over thirty years? You're really going with that?” Grantaire asks with incredulity.

“I'm not 'going with that', it's the truth.” Enjolras says sharply.

“Oh, sure.” Grantaire says, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I realized in Germany.” Enjolras continues, uncowed by Grantaire's disbelief. “And I decided not to tell you because I'm possessive and controlling, and I was afraid it would get worse if I...had you like that.”

“That's a bad excuse.” Grantaire says, but with less force than his earlier protests because this bit does sound like Enjolras.

“You can't say no to me.” Enjolras says.

Grantaire scoffs. “I think we've established that I am more than capable of saying no to you if you cross the line.”

“ _Because I let you!_ ” Enolras yells. The force of it has Grantaire take a step back in surprise. “All I have to do is open my mouth and I can force you to do anything – Sometimes I think wouldn't even need words. Sometimes I can feel the weak spots and I know all I have to do is press to make your mind bend. And you never think of it, you trust me completely with it - with you. But it's on my mind _constantly_. Every time you scare me it's right _there_ , that if I just say the word you'd stop, you'd....stay.”

Grantaire begins to protest the ridiculousness of that statement – but then he remembers yesterday morning, and his body being forced to stop on his way out of the door by Enjolras' voice – and maybe Enjolras' worry isn't completely unfounded this one time.

“I'm terrified of losing you.” Enjolras continues, words coming out in a rush. “I didn't tell you because I was afraid what it would do to me, if I had more of you. I need you so much already. If it got any worse.... I was afraid that if you decided to leave I wouldn't let you. That I would force you to stay. But then you scared me yesterday and I realized I was wrong. If you really wanted to leave it couldn't feel any worse, no matter how much of you I had.”

Grantaire stares speechless at Enjolras for a moment. He doesn't know what's worse about that explanation; the flawed logic behind it or the fact that it is exactly that kind of horrible reasoning Enjolras would be likely to use in such a situation. The outrageousness of the lie Enjolras is stubbornly clinging to has been nothing but hurtful – but the idea of his explanations starting to sound plausible is downright terrifying.

“That's a bad excuse.” Grantaire repeats, shaken. “I wish you would stop.” He turns around and walks away. He ignores the nearest couch in favor of going to the armchair Jehan had used earlier, which is still standing next to the bathroom door. If he sat down in one of the couches Enjolras might sit on the coffee table again, and Grantaire has had enough of that to last a lifetime.

Except Enjolras doesn't follow him this time. He stays put and watches Grantaire drop ungracefully into the armchair. Grantaire is won't admit this out loud, but he still feels a little unsteady when he stands for too long.

“Yesterday...” Enjolras begins haltingly.

“Yesterday you said my name.” Grantaire interrupts. “And it made me stop. But that barely counts as an order. You didn't tell me to do anything, you just said my name. That isn't proof you would force me to do anything. You slipped up for a second – slipped up for the first time, I might add-”

“Not the first time.” Enjolras says sharply.

“The first time since you realized you had that power. Which makes it the second time overall. Sorry, yes, that is a very important distinction.” Grantaire corrects acidly. “You slipped up and then you were so horror-struck that you let me disappear and hid yourself in the apartment. Yesterday is only proof you _can_ slip up. It's proof that when you do you _instantly_ regret it – which isn't a surprise to anyone. Honestly Apollo, you are the only one who's afraid you'll turn into a tyrant.” Grantaire pauses before adding. “But if it helps, Jehan seems willing to kill you if it came to that.”

“It doesn't prove anything. When you left yesterday I knew you were coming back.”

“Which leads to another problem with that explanation; In what kind of crazy alternate universe would I decide to leave?!” Grantaire asks. 

“I don't know.” Enjolras admits, looking utterly defeated. “But you should always have the option.”

“You are insane.” Grantaire grinds out. “Today I ran out on Marius because I couldn't stand being in the same room as you and then I went home to the apartment _we share_ because I don't have a phone and I know you would freak out if I disappeared again.” Grantaire says, leaning forward. “This is the worst thing you could possibly do to me, and I'm _still right here!_ ”

“You still don't believe me, do you?” Enjolras says, voice soft. “Not even a little bit.” It's not a question.

“Of course I don't.” Grantaire says and drops back into the chair

Enjolras waits. Grantaire simply glares back.

Enjolras sighs. “Could you give me a reason?”

“ _No_.” Grantaire says. He is self-aware, okay. He knows he has issues, but there's no way he will sit here and spell them out for Enjolras to inspect and judge. “This is not a debate. You do not win the discussion by giving the better argument. I don't believe you. That's all. That's fact, and it doesn't change no matter what you say.”

Enjolras had once admitted to Grantaire that he was seventeen when he got turned. Grantaire had perhaps teased him too much upon that admission because Enjolras hasn't been willing to say anything on the subject ever since. But seventeen suits Enjolras. A face of youthful innocence for the optimist, forever fighting to make the future better than the present. Never giving up. It's also a face that lends itself well to stubborn scowling. Willing to stay and fight and die on a hill of pure principle.

Grantaire realizes too late that he has just issued a challenge. Enjolras clenches his jaw and narrows his eyes slightly. And oh no, because that is his 'I do not accept this'-look which means lines are being drawn and battle plans are being formed. Grantaire has bad associations with that look because it usually comes before Enjolras does something reckless. This time it means Enjolras is about to change tactics. While Grantaire doesn't like this line of questioning there is no way Enjolras will simply drop the subject altogether, and there are too many painful directions he can take this. Grantaire has to cling to any sort of control he has over the conversation.

“Okay. I'll give you one reason.” Grantaire backpedals, thinking quickly. There is many many reasons to pick from, but he needs something Enjolras can't argue with. Something that steers them away from the subject of his own worth, which he suspects is where Enjolras was about to go.

“Here's one thing. These last thirty years I have been sleeping with people, and you have seen and approved every single one of them.” Grantaire says. This is a good reason, an excellent reason he realizes. He's stumbled into another giant hole in Enjolras' lie and Grantaire can't help the anger that slips into his voice as he continues talking. “You're possessive and territorial; if you'd wanted me even a little bit there's no way you'd let _anyone_ touch me.”

“I'd decided not to tell you how I felt. I wasn't going to force you into celibacy over something I wouldn't act on.” Enjolras answers. 

“I know you love sacrificing yourself for the greater good, but there is a difference between tolerating me sleeping around and _actively_ inspecting and approving the people I fuck.”

“Grantaire I say no. I say no more than half the time now.” Enjolras snaps. “It's seven months since you slept with anyone because I've said no the last three times you brought anyone to me.”

“What? No.” Grantaire denies automatically. He frowns, trying to think back. 

“Yes.” Enjolras continues. “I never mean to, but the way some of them looks at you makes me want to _break_ something. And the funny thing is you don't seem to realize, no matter how _stupid_ my reason is. I know I'm overprotective but there's not that many people out to hurt you, and it's not as if you couldn't easily take out most of them with your hands tied behind your back. And I'm not subtle about it. I barely bother making excuses, I just want them _gone_. I say no more than half the time and I don't have a reason and you never complain.” Enjolras says, finishing his tirade with more disbelief than anger. Something pained passes over his face and he looks away from Grantaire before continuing.

“I inspect and sometimes I approve. But I think the only reason I am capable of that is because you always send them away when I say no. If you ever picked one of them over me I'd be much less calm about it.” Enjolras finishes and looks up at Grantaire again with an oddly resigned expression, like he's awaiting some form of judgment to be called on him.

And after that explanation Grantaire should be angry – he would be angry with Enjolras for that – if he believed him. But he doesn't, and so he just sits there and stares at Enjolras, left with an odd ball of half-formed anger pressing on his chest.

He is saved having to form a response when Enjolras suddenly makes a low frustrated noise and slumps in defeat. “Courfeyrac is coming.” He sighs, turning halfway to the door just as there's a knock.

Courfeyrac doesn't wait for an answer before opening the door, but doesn't enter. He remains in the doorway, leaning on the door handle and looking between them with a hesitant expression.

“I'm sorry, but it's time to go.” He says. “Am I interrupting?”

“ _Yes_.” Enjolras answers at the same time as Grantaire says “No.”

Enjolras turns back to glare reproachfully at Grantaire.

“No. You're done Apollo.” Grantaire says, pushing himself out of the chair.

“Oookay.” Courfeyrac says. “Maybe one of you should ride with Joly and Bossuet instead? Because Cosette's car can feel very small.”

“Fine.” Enjolras says, not looking away from Grantaire. “I'll call Joly. Grantaire can go with you, he needs to talk with Marius anyway.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone want to help name Marius and Cosette's kids? I only need girl names - since all boys of course will be named Jean.


	4. Chapter 4

Marius is waiting for them in the car and doesn't seem surprised at Enjolras' decision to wait for Joly and Bossuet. He simply nods when Courfeyrac tells him before starting the car and pulling away from the curb.

Courfeyrac is riding shotgun and Grantaire is in the backseat again, making it resemble their trip last night, only this time Grantaire is much more lucid.

“Marius?” He says tentatively.

Marius makes a noncommittal noise, not looking away from the road – which is responsible driving, but feels a little unnerving when you know he's mad at you.

“I'm so sorry we didn't tell you.”

Marius sighs, turning his head a fraction in Grantaire's direction. “Did you ever tell your sister?” He asks.

“I wrote to her, after we left France. She died before I came back.” Grantaire says and pauses. For several frightening seconds he can't remember _how_. 

Enjolras. Enjolras will know. His memory is better than Grantaire's and he was there, he was the one who made sure Grantaire got back to their room that night, rather than spending it passed out in a gutter....And then, finally, Grantaire remembers the last letter from her, the one where she wrote she was - 

“She was pregnant. It didn't end well.” Grantaire says, warm with relief when the words ring nothing but true to him.

“I'm sorry, Grantaire.” Marius says.

It hurts still, of course it does, but it's only a dull ache. More an echo of pain than the real thing. And that's not fair at all because Grantaire's nightmares still features the sound of his friends banging on doors and begging for help replicated with terrifying clarity – but he can no longer remember the sound of his little sister's voice. After all this time Marius probably has a clearer memory of her than Grantaire does. 

“It was a long time ago.” Grantaire answers. “And I think I'm the one supposed to be apologizing at the moment.”

Marius doesn't say anything for what feels like a very long time.

“If you want me to?” Grantaire adds hesitantly. “I can just sit here quietly if you prefer. Whatever you want.”

“I think I would like to hear what you have to say.” Marius says, voice measured. “Let's see if you have anything to add to Enjolras' version.”

“Sure, let's compare me to the great orator.” Grantaire sighs. “Did you punch him?”

“No.” Marius says and Grantaire is gratified to hear some warmth in his tone, like the thought amuses him.

“Pity.” Grantaire says. “Did he tell you about the files?”

“No. What files?”

“You had four kids. Jeanne, Geneviève, Jean and Fantine. Geneviève had four kids, Jeanne had none, Jean had seven and Fantine had....”

Grantaire is cut off when Marius abruptly drives the car to the side of the road and brakes violently. The sudden stop throws Grantaire forward, his seat belt catching him painfully and for a moment his nausea returns with a vengeance.

Courfeyrac is cursing in surprise while Marius unbuckles himself, turns in his seat and roughly grabs hold of Grantaire's shirt.

“ _My children?_ ” Marius growls, pulling at Grantaire - without much success since Grantaire's seat belt is still in place. “What do you know of my children?”

“We couldn't ignore them. They were yours, all of them, and Apollo can be more sentimental than anyone gives him credit for.” Grantaire says and touches the wrist of the hand clutching his shirt. Not trying to make Marius let go, just touching him. “There's an apartment in Paris with two rooms used as archives. There's some...family heirlooms you could call it, but mostly files. A lot of paper, tracing your family. I know he keeps a list on his computer with every living descendant. It might not be completely accurate at the moment. Some of them are pregnant and some of them are old and we only update it once a year.”

“Why – ” Marius cuts off abruptly with a surprised noise when Courfeyrac punches him in the shoulder, hard enough that it makes a clear thud on impact.

“Hey! Hands off.” Courfeyrac admonishes and Marius immediately lets go of Grantaire.

“Sorry.” Marius says, leaning back against the dashboard while taking deep deliberate breaths and looking at Courfeyrac. Courfeyrac gives an approving nod and rubs at Marius' shoulder in apology

“That's okay. It seems like I bring it out in you, it's the second time today.” Grantaire's says quietly, rubbing at his chest where the seat belt had dug in.

“It's not you, it's the full moon in four days and you smell like him and you keep _telling me things._ ” Marius says, voice a low rumble. “You let me think you were dead, but then you spend decades secretly checking in on me and even longer tracking my family because he's _sentimental?_ ”

“You have to understand that it took him a very long time to recover from the barricade. He wasn't entirely himself when he decided to leave you.” Grantaire says. “He never saw you, you know, not once. He made sure of that. I don't know if it was to punish himself or because he was afraid it might make him give in and tell you.” 

Marius clenches his jaw. “That doesn't appear to have been a problem for you. You're the one who checked in on me, right? You never showed yourself.”

“I wasn't exactly at my best either.” Grantaire admits. “And I'd promised myself I would do anything he asked.” 

If Grantaire had revealed himself to Marius back then, told him about both of them, Enjolras would have come out of hiding too. He would have had no reason to stay away anymore and they would all have been happier for it. But it had never occurred to Grantaire that he could circumvent Enjolras like that. Back then he'd been too desperate to please. 

Not that he isn't anymore. But now he knows that there are better ways of serving Enjolras than blind obedience, and that when Enjolras makes a bad decision Grantaire can and should try to intervene. He still does whatever Enjolras asks, but if it's something stupid he attempts to talk Enjolras out of it first and then starts looking for loopholes.

Grantaire never tried convincing Enjolras to tell Marius. He doubts he even told Enjolras that he thought they should.

“I'm sorry.” Grantaire says again.

Marius pinches the bridge of his noise and takes another couple of deep breaths. Courfeyrac pats his shoulder while sending Grantaire a reproachful look. Grantaire shrugs and makes an apologetic face that hopefully conveys that yes, he's aware he's a terrible person, but he's doing his best to make up for it. 

Marius drops his hand again and catches Grantaire's eyes. “You'll show me the files.” He says. It's nowhere near a request and Grantaire had no idea Marius could be this menacing. Oddly, he feels a little proud.

“Yes, as soon as Cosette is back we'll show you everything we have.” Grantaire promises. “Most of it is in Paris, but we can take you there on your next break.”

“Okay.” Marius says softly, mostly to himself it seems. Then he turns around, puts his seat belt back on and starts the car again.

Courfeyrac keeps looking at Grantaire wearing a thoughtful expression. Grantaire looks back, unsure what he wants from him.

“What is happening with you and Enjolras?” Marius asks, and Grantaire tears his eyes away to stare at the back of Marius' head in surprise.

“What?...why?” Grantaire croaks with a sinking feeling. Courfeyrac has turned to stare at Marius as well, only he looks absolutely delighted by this turn of events. 

“Because I talked with Ariel and I'm concerned.” Marius says, matter of fact. “Because you owe me. Tell me.”

“Haven't Jehan reported back to you?” Grantaire asks weakly.

“That was before Enjolras talked with you.” Courfeyrac says. He starts twisting around to look at Grantaire, but pauses halfway there and glances questioningly back at Marius while pointing between himself and Grantaire. Marius waves his hand in a way that apparently means 'go ahead', because it makes Courfeyrac turn the rest of the way to Grantaire and continue with: “Although judging by the mood when I walked in that didn't help much. You still don't believe him?”

“Of course I don't believe him.” Grantaire hisses. “Why do you?”

“Because even if his feelings weren't obvious to anyone with functioning eyes, I know he wouldn't lie about this.” Courfeyrac answers. “You do realize that with every hour that passes, your theory about him simply being freaked out gets more and more ridiculous.”

“Do you realize that he _owns_ me?” Grantaire says. “He hates it and tries to ignore it, but it's there and it's primal. He's a creature of the night and I'm _his_. Don't question what he would do to keep me. He's good at the orders, he's always been scared of those – but with the more subtle things he slips up sometimes. Do you know, it took four years before anyone explained what I was to him? And -”

“Four years? You couldn't tell him? You didn't know?” Courfeyrac interrupts incredulously.

“I had some ideas, based on rumors and what I could feel on myself, but I didn't _know_ anything and - And you try and tell Apollo that he might have taken possession of another person! See how far you get before that conversation falls apart.” Grantaire explains, grimacing at the memory. “But that's not important. The point is that it took five more years after that before we realized I weren't aging, and in those five years he never once suggested releasing me. He hates it so much, you know that, but imagine how bad it was back then when he hadn't had over a hundred years to get used to it – and yet the simple solution of undoing it never crossed his mind in _the five years_ where he didn't have my mortality as excuse. Don't get me wrong, I know he would release me in a heartbeat if I ever asked him to. I'm very glad I never had to talk him out of undoing it, it is so much easier feeding him like this. But you have to agree that's not like him at all. If he was completely himself he would have insisted we undo it the instant he realized it was there. He's not, though - He's not in control of all of it, not when it comes to me.”

“That sounds like Enjolras' excuse for not telling you.” Marius says in a carefully neutral voice.

“Yeah, well, we agree that he's possessive.” Grantaire mutters. “We apparently have different opinions on how it affects him.”

“Yes. He's afraid of making you do something you don't want to do, and you're worried it'll make him do something he doesn't want to do. And as far as I'm concerned you're both idiots, but right now you specifically are really going for first place.” Courfeyrac says. “Can I just point out, first of all; if how Enjolras cares for you were caused by strange _vampire instincts_ -” at this he waves his hands about in a way Grantaire knows from experience is his universal sign for 'scary monsters'. “- the life expectancy for thralls would be higher than a couple of months. A lot higher.”

“... How do you know the life expectancy for thralls?” Grantaire asks

“Cosette.” Marius and Courfeyrac answers at the same time; Marius with the adoration that seems his default, Courfeyrac in a 'duh'-tone of voice.

“Secondly.” Courfeyrac continues. “This - him being in love with you - it's not a subtle thing. There's no way that could just slip through without hi...”

“Please stop.” Grantaire breaks in – a sudden gut reaction of _no-no-no_ making the words slip out. He's curling in on himself too without meaning to, but Courfeyrac has stopped talking at least. He's staring at Grantaire, his mouth hanging open.

“You just flinched, didn't you?” Courfeyrac says stunned. “I said 'love' and it made you _flinch._ ”

“Okay, look.” Grantaire says and pauses to take a steadying breath before continuing. “I know he... that he...I know that he cares. But - but look. Imagine you're lost at sea and clinging to a piece of driftwood because it's the only thing keeping you from drowning. And you might be very happy to have this piece of wood because it's kept you alive, but that doesn't make it special. Anything floating would have worked, this just happened to be the closest one when you were going down.”

“Please tell me you're not comparing yourself to a piece of driftwood right now.” Courfeyrac says flatly.

“There's a difference between wanting and needing something and I don't appreciate being told it's the former when I know it's the latter.” Grantaire continues fiercely “Especially since I'm very content being needed. Full-out ecstatic, I promise you. It's more than I would ever have dared to hope for. So I wish you would all stop _pushing me_ because it's _painful_ and I was perfectly happy before!”

“Grantaire, I don't think we can do that.” Marius says, sounding genuinely apologetic. “If we all agreed to drop it you'd take it as proof that you're right.”

“ _I am_ – Fuck!” Grantaire exclaims and drops his face into his hands “...I am right.” He mutters.

“Can you say what exactly you imagine Enjolras would be doing differently if he did love you?” Marius asks gently.

“Ooh, good one.” Courfeyrac says enthusiastically. “Okay; new approach. I think you should sleep with Enjolras.”

“...What?” Grantaire stutters out, too shocked to form anything more elaborate.

“ _Courfeyrac!_ ” Marius chastises.

“Oh, don't use the dad-voice on me. Sex is part of the relationship-package and Enjolras wouldn't be able to fake that.”

“You can be in a relationship without having sex.” Marius points out.

“Of course you can – though, from what I've gathered theirs wouldn't be – but of course you can. That's kinda my _point_. They already act like they are in a relationship, right? There's the...” Courfeyrac pauses mid-gesture and turns his attention from Marius to Grantaire. 

”I don't think you notice but you touch a lot. Especially at home. If you are in the same room you always end up attached somehow. It was the weirdest thing this morning when you kept evading him. Usually it's like your concept of personal space include each other. Then there's the fact that you're the one he goes to – no, let's say the one he _wants_ whenever he's happy or upset. You do the same although Enjolras is a lot more obvious about it. Also you apparently share a bed without thinking that's weird – it is weird, Grantaire. And you've lived together for nearly 200 year and as far as I can tell your future plan is to stay together until one or both of you die. Did you know that Bossuet and Joly were trying to start a betting pool on whether you were a couple before we got the mirror? - They've dropped it now obviously. It got a little weird with our memories back – Anyway, my point is you already act like you are in a relationship. If we ever work this out the only major change in your behavior would – presumably - be the addition of sex. So my suggestion is you go and...Well, _do it_ , to test whether you're right. Freaking out or not, you know Enjolras isn't capable of faking-”

“ _God!_ Courfeyrac!” Grantaire interrupts, a hysterical edge to his voice. “Stop talking! What is wrong with you?”

“Is it because you don't want to? Because that's totally okay of course, like Marius just sa-” And Grantaire doesn't know what face he makes, but Courfeyrac can apparently read enough in it that he changes course with a grin “- No, I didn't think so. Okay, all I'm saying is that Enjolras will never make a move on his own because you are bad at saying no to him, so it has to be you.”

“ _Marius_.” Grantaire pleads. He owes Marius, he does, but there has to be something else Marius wants more than this.

“That's enough, Courf.” Marius says, mercifully. “Leave him be.”

“There's the voice again.” Courfeyrac sighs. He reaches out and pats Grantaire's hand gently. “I'll stop, dear friend. And I promise I won't express any more opinions on the matter, not unless you ask for it yourself.”

That won't happen, Grantaire thinks, and briefly the urge to hit Courfeyrac is strong – not too hard and just on the arm, just enough to bruise, to leave a short-lived reminder of the discomfort he has forced on Grantaire – but then Grantaire looks up and notices the worry with which Courfeyrac is watching him, the clear affection behind it. Any resentment fizzles out and the is left with nothing filling him but his own misery.

“I'm sorry. I know you must be having the worst day. If there's anything at all we can do to help...” Courfeyrac trails off, squeezing Grantaire's hand. “Want a hug?”

And that is tempting. Very very tempting. But it's very likely a hug right now will make Grantaire cry again and that won't do when they're about to deal with hostile werewolves.

Grantaire shakes his and tries to keep his voice steady when he asks “Can we turn on the radio?”

Courfeyrac studies him briefly before nodding and wordlessly turning back around. A moment later the car is filled with an obnoxious jingle for some type of dog food. With both Marius and Courfeyrac's eyes now turned forward and away from him, Grantaire fights the urge to curl up on himself. He restricts himself to closing his eyes while contemplating how this is the worst weekend ever.

It feels like no time has passed before the car slows down to a stop – and it truly can't be more than a few minutes because the radio is still spewing commercials. When Grantaire opens his eyes in surprise he spots Feuilly's car parked next to them, and a familiar blond head with Joly and Bousset on the other side of it - Enjolras is studying Joly's purple umbrella for some reason. This is another clue because Joly and Bossuet should have arrived after them, not already been here. Marius must have been circling their destination, only waiting for the conversation to end.

“What is this place, anyway?” Grantaire asks, to postpone having to leave the car.

“An old brewery. It's supposed to be torn down in a couple of weeks.” Courfeyrac answers.

Grantaire leans forward, studying the old building through the windshield. It clearly used to be a handsome building, but it seems like nobody has been looking after it for a long time. There are significant holes in the brickwork, a door and several windows are missing, and from the looks of it the roof would do a poor job at keeping out the rain – and that's just what's apparent after a cursory inspection from inside the car. Grantaire bets there is a lot of safety-code violations to be found on the inside.

“Okay, it's a trap.” Grantaire announces. “You do not choose a building this creepy if you have good intentions.”

“Hopefully they just have a dramatic flair.” Courfeyrac says.

“Which Mathis does.” Marius grumbles and pulls the key out of the ignition a little violently.

“- Which one of them does. But the possibility of a trap is why we came here two hours early.” Courfeyrac tells Grantaire with a grin before getting out of the car. Then he opens Grantaire's car door with an elaborate bow. Grantaire reconsiders hitting him as he reluctantly climbs out of the car as well.

“Think fast!” Bossuet calls while throwing something. Grantaire just barely manages to deflect something small and dark from hitting him in the face. It bounces off his hand and lands on the ground at his feet - where Grantaire recognizes it.

Two weeks earlier a man had caught Enjolras, Bahorel and Grantaire at gunpoint because Enjolras couldn't hear him hiding on the other side of the room. That trick had been so impressive that Grantaire had searched the man's pockets until he had found the little black velvet bag that was the cause. They'd tested it themselves later and had concluded it worked by hiding whoever wore it from supernatural senses. It didn't make you soundless or invisible, you could still be heard or seen, but only as far as normal human senses would allow. It didn't work on Enjolras when Grantaire wore it, which Grantaire had thought was lucky at the time. Enjolras had gotten unsettled when any of the other wore it – he had ended up pressing an ear to Combeferre's chest to make sure his heart was still beating – but he would probably have had a worse reaction if he suddenly couldn't hear Grantaire anymore. 

“Patrick! A little consideration for the hangover.” Courfeyrac chastises, while Grantaire takes a fortifying breath and bends down to pick up the bag. He can't help feeling triumphant when he gets it and rights himself without stumbling and only a mild head rush. He grins at Courfeyrac whose hand is hovering near his shoulder, ready to provide support.

“Okay?” Courfeyrac asks 

“Fit as a fiddle. Why do I get this?” Grantaire asks, throwing the little bag from one hand to the other. They can't figure out how it's made, so they only have the single one. Their only clue are the ingredients in the bag, but that's no help since opening it would break the spell. They're unlikely to figure out the entire ritual just from the ingredients anyway, so keeping this one intact and working is the safer choice.

\- Grantaire also suspects creating something this effective would demand killing something, if not several somethings, to power it. Cosette had thought likewise, but had agreed that nobody else needed to know about that suspicion, lest someone decided they couldn't use it for moral reasons. 

“You're going to be our secret weapon in case it goes wrong – and I don't think you get to criticize the plan when you go hiding during our planning session.” Bossuet says, mockingly prim. And that's fair, Grantaire wouldn't argue with that – if not for what Marius says next being wrong.

“It was you or Enjolras, since you are the only ones they don't know. But you smell of vampire. If we brought you to the meeting they'd know you are a- That there was a vampire too.” Marius explains.

“That's not true.” Grantaire says. “You're the first one who's ever figured me out without him nearby to make the connection. It's very unlikely they'll be able to do it too.”

“I'm pretty sure I could -” Bossuet interjects.

“You were biased. You already knew I wasn't human the first time you met me.” Grantaire interrupts. “That's hardly convincing.”

“But why should Marius' sense of smell be better than other werewolves?” Joly asks. “Maybe the werewolves over here are a subspecies with a better sense of smell than what you are used to?”

“ _Joly!_ ” Grantaire says appalled. “I'm deeply offended by the mere idea that Americans might be intrinsically better at _anything_...”

“We're _Canadians_.” Courfeyrac corrects, looking betrayed.

“North Americans. I was talking about the continent.” Grantaire clarifies.

“What's your stance on French Canadians?” Bossuet asks.

“It's not about pedigree. It's about living on the right side of the Atlantic Ocean.”

“Grantaire.” Enjolras says quietly, but nonetheless ending the discussion immediately by entering it. “Do you want to come negotiate with the werewolves?”

“Of course not. I'll happily leave the politics to you.” Grantaire says and meets Enjolras' eyes. See? There's no reason for everyone to keep trying to force him to talk. They can function like this.

Then Enjolras smiles hesitantly to devastating effect and Grantaire has to look away immediately before something in his chest breaks apart.

“You are much better at sneaking up on people than me anyway.” Enjolras offers.

Grantaire can only grunt weakly in agreement, trying to think of some way to divert Enjolras' attention. “So while I'm hiding are all the rest of you going to talk with them?” Grantaire asks and deposits the spell bag in his pocket, horribly aware of Enjolras' eyes on him.

“I'm staying behind too.” Joly says. “But the rest of them, yes, more or less.”

“We're going to have a look at the layout before we decide anything.” Enjolras says.

“In that case.” Grantaire says and pulls a sheathed knife out of his coat pocket. “Courf can have this. It's silver.”

Courfeyrac reaches out for the knife with an eager expression but stops before taking it, his face dropping slightly. “You'll have better use of it than me.”

“I already have one. This is my spare.” Grantaire says and presses the knife into Courfeyrac's hand.

“It's so small though.” Courfeyrac says, pulling it out of the sheath and inspecting the blade. “Wouldn't I be more likely to piss them off than actually hurt anyone?”

“It is small.” Grantaire agrees. “So don't worry about angering anyone. If they're close enough for you to use it they are already too close.” 

“Let me.” Enjolras says, walking forward and taking hold of Courfeyrac's arm. He starts rolling up Courfeyrac's sleeve. “Don't aim for the heart. It's hard to hit and if it catches on a rib it won't be deep enough to stop them attacking.” Enjolras says. 

Careful not to touch him, Grantaire hands Enjolras the strap that goes with the sheath and then retreats a few steps out of reach while Enjolras fastens it to the underside of Courfeyrac's arm, movements sure and efficient. He has practice doing that on Grantaire.

“The stomach, throat or eyes are best, but a thigh will also slow them down.” Enjolras continues, while rolling the sleeve down again, and finally patting the now hidden knife before releasing Courfeyrac. “Get it in as deep as possible and then leave it there. The hilt is silver so they will have trouble pulling it out on their own.”

“Erm...noted.” Courfeyrac says, flexing his arm gingerly.

“How long have you had that in your pocket?” Marius asks Grantaire, slightly unnerved.

“It wasn't there when you were carrying me around yesterday, if that's what you're worried about.”

“You didn't have the one on your leg then either.” Enjolras says. “I checked.”

“You can't blame me for that!” Grantaire exclaims. “I would have left without shoes if they weren't right by the door.” 

It's an overreaction, too angry, too fierce a response considering that Enjolras' voice had been without accusation. But carrying the knife had been a promise to Enjolras and Grantaire can never take such promises lightly. When Enjolras mentions it the guilt of it pulls at him, even if the breaking of that promise was a result of Enjolras' actions. 

And now everybody is staring at Grantaire. Concerned again.

Grantaire shakes his head and looks away from all of them “You should have let me have those two hours.” He mutters to Courfeyrac.

“R - “

“Go and check your layout, Apollo.” Grantaire interrupts. “So we can get on with this plan.”

“I wish you would stop calling me that.” Enjolras says with frustration. It takes Grantaire a moment to understand what he means, but when he does and turns to look at him in shock Enjolras is already walking away, leaving Grantaire to stare, off-balance. He barely notices Bossuet and Courfeyrac sharing a look before hurrying after Enjolras with Marius.

Grantaire doesn't know exactly where 'Apollo' came from, but it certainly wasn't his creation. If he remembers correctly it was already in use by the time Grantaire met Enjolras. The nickname was not his creation, but he has been using it for a long time – has been the only one using it for most of that – and the idea that Enjolras might dislike it is unsettling.

“What was _that_ about?” Grantaire asks, turning to Joly. “That was strange, right?”

“Which part?” Joly asks. Grantaire is about to tell him, but realizes that none of their interaction the last many hours have been very usual.

“Fair point.” He sighs.

Joly nods and hums thoughtfully. “The thing is, you two have been together for so long that I suspect any conversation you have has at least three layers more than what the rest of us can pick up on. It's – well....” he trails off, glancing at Grantaire.

“ _Please_. Don't you start too. I don't think I can handle more advice today.” Grantaire pleads. 

“Fine. I won't then.” Joly says easily

“Really?” Grantaire asks. That's the first time today anyone has backed off the moment he asked them to.

“Of course. But I have to say for the record that I'm unhappy Jehan, Courfeyrac and Marius all got to have a go at you. Me and Bossuet have been preparing for this since we got our memory back.”

“I noticed. You weren't subtle.”

“We weren't trying to be.” Joly grins briefly, before a much more somber expression takes its place. “Oh, but one thing though and then I promise we can spend the rest of the time talking about the weather.”

“Alright.” Grantaire says, a little apprehensively.

“You have to remember that we love you and want you to be happy. It may turn out we're not going about it the best way but that is all we want, really, for you to be happy. All of us - that includes your vampire.”

Grantaire stares at him, mouth dry, unsure how to respond to that.

“And now I'm done.” Joly says, and the serious expression gets replaced by a soft grin. “The wind's a little brisk today, huh? Makes it much cooler than it was yesterday.”

“....Yeah. Cold.” Grantaire agrees haltingly, a ball of relief and gratitude heavy in his chest. He should have gone to Joly or Bossuet yesterday. They would have kept Enjolras away if he'd asked and they would have let him drink while keeping him close and safe. He would be terrible company, but they've never been cowed by that before. The only reason he didn't go to them yesterday was that he didn't think of it. He clearly still haven't gotten used to all of them being back. 

”Cold, but dry. I don't think you'll need the umbrella.” Grantaire manages.

“I didn't bring it for rain.” Joly says and hands the umbrella to Grantaire before pointing to the end of it.

It takes Grantaire a moment, but then he notices the tip is more pointy than usual for an umbrella and takes a closer look at the material.

“Is this silver?” Grantaire asks, delighted and prods the end with a finger. The tip is rounded – probably necessary to keep it looking non-threatening - but simple skin contact with silver is usually enough to get a reaction from a werewolf anyway, and it looks like could still break skin if there is enough force behind it.

“Yeah, cool right? It's not a fancy hidden knife, but it's good in a pinch.”

“How many times has Bossuet accidentally hurt himself on this?” Grantaire asks, handing the umbrella back.

“Six so far. It's actually given me some good data on how -”

The loud crack of a gunshot interrupts him. 

Grantaire registers that the sound came from inside the brewery, right before a delayed burst of hot burning pain in his hip distracts him thoroughly. His legs gives out and he drops to his knees in the gravel of the parking lot. Joly follows him down, hissing at Grantaire to let him see.

Oddly, the pain lessens considerably in the short time it takes for him to hit the ground. Strangely too, he doesn't feel the slick heat of blood on his hand. This thought crosses Grantaire's mind right before Joly pries his hand away from his hip and says, puzzled; “There's nothing there.”

A second shot rings out from inside the brewery, instantly followed by a third. And Grantaire feels both of them in his chest, so close together in both time and distance that the pain comes as a single blow, causing him to topple forward – just barely averting hitting the gravel face first because Joly throws an arm forward and softens the impact. Joly's arm end up caught between Grantaire's chest and the ground – pressing against the spot where Grantaire just felt himself being shot - yet Grantaire isn't feeling excruciating pain at the contact. The pain is in fact receding by the second.

“It's not me.” Grantaire gasps out, terrified at that realization. This hasn't happened before – or not to him at least, but he remembers two weeks ago and Enjolras pushing Cosette into a wall because he was worried.

 _“You got shot and I could feel it, Grantaire. I felt you being shot.”_ Enjolras had said.

 _“That's...new.”_ Grantaire had said, and later they had been too distracted by other concerns to bother thinking more about it.

“Enjolras.” Joly says now, having reached the same conclusion. 

Grantaire scrambles to get his feet beneath himself while Joly pulls on his arm. Together they get Grantaire to his feet again – just as a howl pierces the air. And that's not good, because Bossuet and Marius isn't capable of changing into a wolf right now so it must be someone else – worse still, the ability to change independent of the full moon usually comes with a great deal of power.

Joly curses colorfully and sets off like a shot, sprinting across the parking lot towards the brewery – umbrella in hand - and leaving Grantaire behind with no further ado. Grantaire curses too in surprise and follows as best he can, but the lingering echoes of Enjolras' pain slows him down. 

Two more gunshots goes off just as Joly reaches the building. He glances back at Grantaire – probably to check whether he felt those two too – which he didn't, thankfully - before continuing through the open doorway.

One more shot fires before Grantaire reaches the doorway a few seconds later. He comes through in time to take in the werewolf that has Bossuet in a headlock – right before Joly smacks him over the back of his head with the umbrella. The werewolf yelps in pain, Bossuet twists free, and the next moment the werewolf is being forced to the ground, Bossuet on top of him and Joly standing ready to assist with the umbrella raised.

That clearly handled, Grantaire only hesitates briefly before continuing through the closest doorway. None of the shots that have gone off are in either Bossuet or this werewolf Grantaire notes on his way – but then he is in the next room and locates all six of them quickly.

Courfeyrac is crawling out from beneath a wolf – a dead wolf judging by the way it is collapsing back into a human shape, fur receding to reveal a single bullet hole in the back of its neck. And that's the one who shifted accounted for, not much to worry about in the end. It's a very good shot, having separated the head from the spine all at once – but then Marius is the one holding the smoking gun as he helps Courfeyrac out from beneath the naked body. Marius did always have excellent aim and does not respond well to threats against Courfeyrac.

Behind them is another dead werewolf, this one human shaped to begin with judging by the clothes it is still wearing. This one has two bullet holes in its chest and is also Marius' doing Grantaire thinks, because the other wolf wouldn't have gotten that close to Courfeyrac unless Marius was forcibly kept away. The broken fingers on this one also explains where Marius got the gun.

Next to it sits Enjolras, his shirt dark with blood, where Grantaire already new the last three bullets would be. 

“Enjolras.” Grantaire says, and he doesn't remember crossing the room, but he is already on the ground in front of Enjolras and pushing his shirt aside to look at the wounds. One in the hip and two much too close to his heart for comfort. Bleeding sluggishly all three, but bleeding nonetheless – bleeding enough that's it's starting to make a pool on the floor. 

Grantaire pulls his jacket of and presses it against Enjolras' chest to halt the bleeding. No exit wounds, which is good, the bullets won't hurt Enjolras and it means less holes to bleed out of. Then Grantaire notices the trail of blood on the floor behind Enjolras and curses at him under his breath. The stubborn idiot was shot a couple of feet away and then walked over here to the dead werewolf – although the werewolf probably hadn't been dead at the time – before finally sitting down. And yes, Grantaire is sure he had a good reason for that, but there is all this blood on the floor and on Grantaire's hands which should rightfully be inside Enjolras' body.

“You couldn't have used that speed for something? Had to let all three hit you?” Grantaire asks, voice shaky.

“It's silver.” Enjolras says – and yeah, Grantaire should have realized from the dead werewolves. In his defense, the holes in Enjolras are very much at the center of his attention right now – But yes, silver. That explains why the first shot is in the hip when the next two is placed terrifyingly close to his heart. It had been meant for someone else and then the shooter had adjusted his aim to the new target. Enjolras hadn't moved away because he was covering for another – probably Marius.

“Grantaire.” Enjolras breathes out, listing forward until Grantaire grabs his shoulder to keep him up. Enjolras blinks slowly, red flashing in his eyes before he forces it away. Grantaire counts back in his head – it has been 11 days since Enjolras last fed and that is too long to be of any use now.

“How much time do we have?” Grantaire asks.

“We need to get home.” Enjolras answers. “But – the werewolf first. The last one.”

“Killing him would be quickest.” Grantaire can't help saying, even knowing it will be shot down.

“No.” Enjolras says. “Marius won't like that.”

“And neither do you.” Grantaire sighs. Ultimately, it is up to Marius because he is the one the werewolves have been harassing and the one they ostensibly came to talk peace with. Still, Enjolras is bleeding and Grantaire would love an excuse to take it out on someone.

“Enjolras!” Joly calls from somewhere behind Grantaire and a moment later he drops down on the ground next to them.

“Joly.” Enjolras greets him with a weak smile.

“Let me see.” Joly says - and briefly, Grantaire wants to deny him, because he doesn't know what to look for anyway – but no, Joly does know something. He and Combeferre spent an afternoon last week taking a baseline on Enjolras. Joly knows how many times a minute Enjolras' heart normally beats and he knows that it doesn't matter how one of the bullets has collapsed Enjolras's left lung because Enjolras doesn't actually need the air.

Grantaire lets Joly take hold of the jacket and wraps both hands around Enjolras' shoulders instead. Joly hisses in sympathy when he sees the wounds.

“If it was anybody else...” Joly trails off, pressing the jacket back down and touching two fingers to Enjolras throat to check his pulse. Enjolras' jaw twitches at the touch and he stops breathing. 

“Your heart rate is slower than usual, so at least you're not going into shock....I think?” Joly continues with a frown. “R can vampires go into shock?”

“Their version of shock is a bit more violent.” Grantaire says and removes Joly's hand from Enjolras' throat. “And yes, he is going into that. Don't worry I can fix him, I just shouldn't attempt it here.”

“Blood.” Enjolras says. His eyes are firmly closed now, which is a sure sign they are red again and he isn't capable of changing them back anymore.

“I know.” Grantaire soothes, moving a hand down to squeeze Enjolras' hand. “I'll go make Marius decide on something. Then we can go.”

“Not _me_.” Enjolras says and his eyes blinks open briefly, a quick flash of red that makes Joly startle. He shifts his hand in Grantaire's grip, moving it up to curl around Grantaire's wrist. “The werewolf.”

“Oh....That's _perfect_. Let me – Bossuet!” Grantaire calls over his shoulder, before turning back to Enjolras. ”His scent doesn't bother you anymore, right?” 

“Bossuet is fine.” Enjolras says and his head twitches forward by the smallest degree, in what is probably intended as a nod. 

“Good. Joly, you can stay but you shouldn't touch him anymore. You smell too much like food right now. Bossuet can – Bossuet.” Grantaire interrupts himself as Bossuet appears. “Can you keep Enjolras company for a moment?”

“Of course.” Bossuet says immediately and drops down next to Joly, who relinquishes the job of holding the jacket.

“Keep him sitting. He'll feel vulnerable laying down here and we don't want that – even if he seems to pass out. He will still be able to tell.” Grantaire instructs. “Enjolras, I promise I will be right back.”

“I know.” Enjolras sighs, but keeps his iron grip around Grantaire's wrist. Grantaire taps the back of Enjolras' hand lightly to make him let go – there's no using any force on him when he is like this. Reluctantly, Enjolras loosens his grip enough for Grantaire's hand to slip free. To soften the loss Grantaire moves the freed hand up to brush over Enjolras' cheek. His fingers leaves a streak of blood on the pale skin.

“I will be right back.” Grantaire repeats and quickly moves out of Enjolras's reach before he can get hold of him again.

Marius and Courfeyrac are with the werewolf in the room Grantaire had first entered. It is stripped of everything now, but from the size it was probably a reception before. The werewolf is kneeling on the ground, talking rapidly, while Marius is standing over him well out of reach, pointing the gun at him in a relaxed but sure grip. Grantaire doesn't recognize the model so he doesn't know how many shots it holds, but presumably there is at least one more bullet in there. Courfeyrac stands even further back, leaning against the wall – probably to keep him far away should anything happen. 

The werewolf stops talking and Courfeyrac straightens when they see Grantaire.

“How's Enjolras?” Courfeyrac asks anxiously.

“He'll be fine, but we need to get home as soon as possible.” Grantaire says, stepping up next to Marius. “What about him?” he asks nodding to the werewolf while wiping his hands off on his jeans.

“They were paid to find out if we knew anything about a mirror, that's why they agreed to meet with us. I thought we should let him go back and tell them that the mirror is broken, so they can stop looking for it.” Marius says.

“We did just plan on talking.” The werewolf says hurriedly, glancing briefly up at Grantaire before focusing on Marius again. “The gun was just a precaution. But you caught us by surprise and Benji has always been impulsive.”

“Why the fuck did you let him carry the gun then?” Courfeyrac asks.

“Whether you came to hurt us or not, you did come under false pretenses.” Grantaire says. “And now my Master is _bleeding_. I want something from you in recompense - more than just delivering a message to your employer.”

“R -” Marius says, concerned. Grantaire ignores him and crouches down in front of the werewolf.

“Here's what we are going to do.” Grantaire begins and pulls out the silver knife strapped to his shin. The werewolf – to his credit – flinches at the first sight of it but stays perfectly still after that - even as Grantaire pulls his t-shirt forward and cuts it down the middle with the knife, baring his chest. Grantaire has to stop himself from saying 'good boy'.

“I know a witch who specializes in blood magic.” Grantaire says as he cuts off a corner of the t-shirt and then splits the fabric into three smaller pieces. “You will give me three drops of your blood and I will give them to her. If you ever bother _any one of us_ again, she will use them to do something terrible to you. - That is, if Marius has no objections.” Grantaire adds, glancing over his shoulder to look at Marius.

“I – No.” Marius says, tearing his eyes away from the knife with some difficulty to meet Grantaire's eyes. “No, I agree with that.” He says, and nods his head, as if to say 'proceed'.

“Great.” Grantaire turns back to the werewolf and pokes him right over the heart with a finger. “I want it from here.” He says and holds out the knife to the werewolf, hilt first.

The werewolf doesn't move for what feels like a very long time to Grantaire. His eyes flickers between the knife and something above Grantaire's shoulder several times. At first Grantaire thinks he is looking at Marius, but the angle is not high enough, and then Grantaire realizes that he has a straight line of sight through the door opening to Enjolras in the next room. He might be hoping for a distraction.

“Don't stall.” Grantaire snaps “I will lose patience with you long before Enjolras loses control.”

“No.” The werewolf startles, eyes instantly going from the knife to Grantaire. “I wasn't! It's just...It's silver.”

“So are the three bullets in my Master.” Grantaire counters and he suspects the grin spreading on his face might look a little deranged. “You don't want me cutting you. Two weeks ago I killed a man with this knife for _threatening_ to shoot Enjolras.”

For some reason this doesn't spur the werewolf on to take the knife. Losing patience, Grantaire sighs and cuts another piece off of the t-shirt with a flick of the knife. He wraps the fabric around the hilt and offers it again. This time the werewolf takes it with a shaky hand.

The werewolf doesn't make a sound as the knife pierces his skin and Grantaire is duly impressed. The skin instantly becomes inflamed. Even though Grantaire quickly moves to press the small pieces of fabric against the cut, he only manages two of them before the skin has swollen so much it stops the blood flow. At this point the werewolf is trembling all over, pale and sweating profusely.

“One more.” Grantaire prompts, voice gentler than before. The werewolf presses the tip of the knife to the cut again with a hand so shaky that he nearly drops it. Grantaire quickly gathers his third drop of blood with one hand and takes the knife back with the other. The werewolf seems profoundly relieved to be rid of it and heaves out a great sigh when Grantaire makes it disappear back into its sheath.

“Grantaire? He's passed out.” Joly calls from the doorway. That isn't really the case, Grantaire knows. Vampires don't pass out from blood loss – that's one of the reason they are so hard to kill. No matter how much you hurt them they only stop moving when they are finally dead. Rightly Enjolras shouldn't have passed out when he got shot at the barricade. Grantaire suspects emotional shock had been the real reason and that the massive chest wounds had just been the last straw that made his mind call it quits for a while. 

Usually though, when Enjolras goes unresponsive he's still conscious. He retreats to save strength and because stopping _all_ responses makes it easier to curb the violent ones. It's a decidedly bad sign because Enjolras only does this when he's on the edge of his control.

“Yes, we're going now.” Grantaire says, getting up. “He's all yours, Le Baron. Come tell Enjolras what you've made this one promise when you're done here.” Grantaire tells Marius, patting him quickly on the shoulder on his way to the door. 

“Is he -” Courfeyrac begins

“He'll be better by then.” Grantaire interrupts – and his words probably aren't as reassuring as he would like them to be, as he follows this up by nearly pushing Joly out of the doorway in his hurry.

Bossuet is holding Enjolras up in a sitting position as commanded – a completely limp Enjolras who currently resembles a corpse a great deal with his pale skin, all the blood and the fact he isn't breathing. Grantaire can't help checking for a heartbeat as the first thing when he reaches them. He gets one better when Enjolras responds to his touch with a growl so low Grantaire feels it more than he hears it.

“Joly, can you keep this from getting anybody else's blood on it? Also, I need someone to drive us.” Grantaire says and presses the fabric with the three blood drops into Joly's hand. Joly makes a horrified noise the moment he realizes what it is.

“We need those. Don't lose them. You can give me another lecture on blood-borne diseases later.” Grantaire says while pulling one of Enjolras' arms over his shoulders and wrapping one of his own around Enjolras' waist. “Up we go.”

Enjolras is much lighter than he looks and is furthermore a weight Grantaire has experience carrying. When Grantaire stands he does so in one smooth move, lifting Enjolras up without jostling him.

“Joly can drive. The car doesn't like me.” Bossuet says, slipping in beneath Enjolras' other arm. Being significantly taller than Grantaire, he ends up taking most of Enjolras' weight. Grantaire lets him, but tightens his grip on Enjolras waist.

“Is there some other way out? He has werewolf issues – passing a live one right now might set him off.” Grantaire asks.

Bossuet nods and pulls gently in the opposite direction. “There's a hole in the wall around that corner.” Grantaire follows his lead quickly, forcing Bossuet to speed up to keep up. “- And I don't count as werewolf?”

“No - congratulation - you don't. If it was going to be a problem he would have reacted as soon as you came near.” Grantaire says. “Also hey, first rule of dealing with an injured Enjolras; Do not antagonize him. If he feels threatened instinct takes over and he starts attacking. That only ends in blood – literally.”

“Grantaire, how exactly are you going to fix him?” Joly asks from behind them.

“He's a _vampire_ , Joly. How do you think I'm going to fix him?” Grantaire asks, glancing backwards. “You're the one who keeps giving me iron supplements. Did you forget why you were doing that?”

“Yes, I remember, thank you. But if that's the case why do you need to be home to do it?”

“Because he has more control when he feels safe - and is therefore less likely to tear out my throat.”

“That's a possibility?” Bossuet asks and slows down in alarm. Grantaire – who can see the hole by now – makes him speed up with a kick to his ankle and an impatient look. 

“It is, technically.” Grantaire says, once they've sped up again. “There's a reason thrall's rarely live long. But on the bright side he hasn't done so any of the other times he's been hurt, so my odds are good.”

“Okay, but for each individual flip of a coin the probability remains -” Joly begins

“If he doesn't get blood he'll eventually lose control or go mad with hunger.” Grantaire interrupts. “Do you think he would let me do this if he had any better options?”

Joly goes quiet for a while at that. Meanwhile they have reached the hole and Grantaire and Bossuet tries to get through it without jostling Enjolras too much. It is a rather big hole, nearly door-size, but it still takes some coordination for three people to get through it smoothly when one of them is as good as unconscious.

“Has anybody called our back-up?” Grantaire asks once they have all gotten through the hole

“I've texted Combeferre. They should be here any second now.” Joly answers before asking “Grantaire, what's the difference between losing control and going mad?”

“Losing control means losing higher brain functions and indiscriminately jumping the nearest source of human blood. Going mad is the same except they don't stop when they're full. Or at all.” Grantaire explains. “They have to starve for a while to get to the second one though.”

“That's why I shouldn't touch him anymore?” Joly asks.

“Yes – well...No.” Grantaire says. “Thrall trumps human. If he starts slipping and I am anywhere nearby he will go for me first. But you smell like food. It makes it harder for him. - Oh, actually, new first rule of dealing with injured Enjolras. Always _always_ let me handle it. If I am not there, you stay far far away until I get there. The old first rule can be the second rule. - Car!” Grantaire adds, nodding towards Feuilly's car which they are thankfully nearing. Joly runs ahead to unlock it.

“You should have made us a pamphlet, or given us a short introduction course. 'The Care and Feeding of Your Vampiric Revolutionary; A Beginner Guide'.” Bossuet says. “Some sort of preparation before this would have been good.”

“I realize that. Hindsight is -” Grantaire begins but doesn't get to finish because Bossuet stumbles at that moment. 

They were _so close_ , only a couple of feet from the car.

Bossuet stumbles. He regains his footing almost immediately but by then the damage is already done. The brief moment he's falling he automatically tightens his grip on Enjolras, nearly pulling him out of Grantaire's grasp. Enjolras can't help reacting to that.

Enjolras moves too quickly for Grantaire to see. He hears Bossuet falling to the ground with a surprised sound and then Grantaire's back collides painfully with the side of the car. The next he knows Enjolras is pressed against his front, growling loudly. His mouth is close to Grantaire's throat, his breath ghosting over the vulnerable skin - 

He doesn't advance, but stays perfectly still right there on the brink. And just barely managing it, judging by the way his body is shaking. Grantaire can feel his t-shirt getting wet from Enjolras blood. The makeshift bandage that was Grantaire's jacket must have fallen to the ground in the scuffle.

This is the worst part. The part where there's something else in charge of Enjolras' body. Grantaire is always terrified that he will make a mistake and Enjolras will come back to himself to find he has hurt someone.

“Shhh, it's okay.” Grantaire shushes. He only has one hand free as the other one is currently pressed against the car by Enjolras, but he uses that hand to pat Enjolras' shoulder – being extra careful to keep the movement so slow and soft that it can in no way be construed as an attempt to get away. “It's okay, you've got me. I'm not going anywhere. Come back, Enjolras. You're fine, it's fine.”

The growling quiets down as Enjolras shudders and drops his head, burying his face in Grantaire's shoulder. “Grantaire...” Enjolras whines, the sound muffled by Grantaire's shirt.

“I know, I know.” Grantaire soothes with relief and glances around to check on Bossuet. He is still on the ground but otherwise looks unhurt. He has rolled onto his side and is watching Grantaire and Enjolras silently – and Bossuet is absolutely perfect, Grantaire realizes. He's fine, but he's staying down to keep from antagonizing Enjolras further, letting Grantaire deal with it as asked. Bossuet is the best – and Joly too, because he is somewhere nearby but haven't done anything to interfere either. Grantaire manages a grateful smile in Bossuet's direction before focusing back on Enjolras.

“It's okay. You can have anything you want, I promise.” Grantaire murmurs and runs his free hand lightly down Enjolras side. “But this here is no good, you know that. It's not safe here. Anyone could walk by and interrupt.”

Enjolras makes a high-pitched unhappy noise and tightens his grip on Grantaire's hand painfully.

“Shhh, I know. I'm all yours.” Grantaire continues and rubs at Enjolras' back with the lightest of pressures. “But not here. We need to move. We need to get into the car. Just hold on for ten minutes and we'll be home. Ten minutes and we'll be safe, and I'll be right here all the way. You don't have to let go. I'm your cupbearer, remember Apollo? You've always got me.” 

Enjolras whines again, but nods slowly into Grantaire's shoulder and slumps, suddenly not supporting his own weight anymore. It's only because Grantaire has experience with this that he catches Enjolras before he starts falling. 

“Help us get in the car.” Grantaire tells Bossuet, who jumps up immediately. Grantaire coaxes Enjolras to help back up a few steps so Bossuet can open the car door to the backseat. Behind them Grantaire hears Joly open his own door and start the engine.

“You said ten minutes?” Joly calls. “We'll be breaking some laws then.”

“Yes.” Grantaire says while bending uncomfortably to get into the car backwards with Enjolras clinging to his front like a limpet. He ends up on his back with Enjolras on top of him and Bossuet has to push at his feet to get them all the way in. 

“If you get a ticket Enjolras will cover it.” Grantaire manages, a little short of breath as Bossuet throws Grantaire's bloodied jacket in after them and closes the car door.

“You have my blessing to break all the traffic laws necessary. As a law student I'm pretty sure I have that authority.” Bossuet says while getting into the passenger seat and slamming the door behind him.

“As a med student I am completely sure you don't.” Joly counters. “Fasten your seat belts.” He adds before stepping on the speeder and taking off.

“I'm afraid that's not going to happen.” Grantaire mumbles and squirms around a little, trying to get upright. He only ends up jostling Enjolras who starts growling again in response.

“That's not good is it?” Bossuet asks, dryly at first, but the way his tone goes up at the end betrays his worry. He is twisted uncomfortably around in his seat to look at Grantaire and Enjolras. When Joly makes a sharp turn to the sound of angry car horns Bossuet smacks the side of his head into the headrest.

Grantaire doesn't answer, too busy trying to soothe Enjolras with a steady stream of murmured reassurances. It doesn't work. The growling continues and Grantaire can feel tension build in Enjolras, muscles readying for an attack. 

Grantaire takes a chance and strokes a hand through Enjolras' hair – a risky move. When Enjolras is out of it like this it is fifty/fifty whether he reacts well or badly to anything above the neck being touched. Grantaire makes a mental note that this should be in the guide he clearly needs to write for the others; no touching the head – Although if Enjolras is bad enough for it to be a problem they shouldn't be touching him at all, so maybe that information will be superfluous anyway.

Today Enjolras doesn't tolerate the touch. He slaps Grantaire's hand away with an angry noise and raises his head to glare at Grantaire with black and red eyes.

“Bossuet, do me a favor and look forward for a bit.” Grantaire says.

Grantaire doesn't see if Bossuet complies because the next moment Enjolras pushes his chin up and bites into the side of his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everybody who suggested names. I loved them all and was this close to giving Cosette and Marius more kids just so I could use them, but then I remembered that I'd already mentioned there were four kids in Waking Up (damn you past me). If I need to name any of the grandkids, they will be Adele or Marielle or George(ina/tte)


	5. Chapter 5

The first time Enjolras bit him, Grantaire was certain he was going to die from it.

This was not caused by any lack of faith in Enjolras, but from a basic knowledge of vampires and, more than anything else, the very visceral sensation of a monster sinking its teeth into his neck. As far as near-death experiences go, not even the Barricade could compare – the Barricade where Grantaire got shot four times in the chest and where Grantaire is pretty sure he did die for a little while before Enjolras dragged him back to life. Even so, Grantaire has not experienced anything that made him more intimately aware of his own mortality than that first time a borderline feral vampire had him by the throat, draining the life out of him gulp by gulp. Even knowing it was Enjolras and having willingly put himself there didn't stop some very primal terror from making its presence known.

It hurt like hell too. It's not just skin being broken. It's skin being violently torn apart by blunt human teeth and it doesn't stop. Vampires continue gnawing at the wound until the feeding is done.

Being bitten as a thrall is a much more pleasant experience. The first bite still hurts, but as soon as the blood hits Enjolras' tongue Grantaire doesn't feel any of it anymore. What he feels instead is Enjolras' utter relief at his hunger being quenched, quickly followed by the simple pleasure of blood running down his throat.

It's _amazing_. Grantaire completely understands why people turn into murderous assholes when they become vampires.

Enjolras makes that pleased hum he usually does and then pulls back enough to bite down again on top of the first bite. Grantaire is only vaguely aware of it - he feels Enjolras' pleasure when it causes a new burst of blood more than the bite itself. Biting down twice is not good, Grantaire thinks hazily, it means it'll be harder to stitch up later – but it's not unexpected when Enjolras is hurt like this.

He should be counting how many times Enjolras swallows, Grantaire remembers belatedly. It's usually a steady rhythm which makes it the best way of keeping track of time – unlike Grantaire's heart beat, which is racing away like it's trying to pump as much blood out for Enjolras as possible.

Enjolras hums again, a more lazy sound this time, content. It means he's close to finished, which is probably good. Grantaire doesn't think he's gotten a lot of air for a while now. Enjolras weighs less than you would expect, but most of that weight seems to be resting on Grantaire's chest, and he's pressing down on Grantaire's throat too at the moment.

Fun fact; A great deal of the people who die from a vampire bite don't die of the blood loss. They simply choke to death because the vampire inadvertently squeezes the throat too tightly while feeding.

Grantaire really hopes Bousset looked away.

Enjolras removes his teeth from Grantaire's neck and starts licking the bite lazily. Grantaire can't help making a disappointed sound when the connection to Enjolras' bloodhaze abruptly cuts off and gets replaced with the dull throbbing pain from his own neck instead. The full mouthful of air he gets in the next moment almost makes up for it though.

Some clarity returns to Grantaire's thoughts, and he tries to reach up and rub at Enjolras' back. It's usually a good idea to try to preemptively soothe Enjolras' guilt before he returns to himself. 'Try' turns out to be the right word though, as Grantaire's hands seems reluctant to move that far. He ends up patting Enjolras' side clumsily instead. It's been a while since Enjolras was this hurt, Grantaire had forgotten how out of sorts his body gets when Enjolras takes a lot of blood.

Enjolras sighs in a final sort of way. He gets his hands beneath himself and pushes up, nosing briefly at Grantaire's jaw and cheek on the way up. Then his head is above Grantaire's, blinking down at him. Blue and white back in his eyes again. Grantaire sees him tense up as the last couple of minutes starts catching up to him. There he is, Grantaire thinks, and smiles up at Enjolras.

“Feel better?” Grantaire asks. It's a weak gasp, really. His heart is still racing and he is breathing too fast now, he knows, but can't make himself stop. He is starting to feel cold too, which he knows from experience will only get worse. This is stupid, his body really should be better at handling blood loss by now.

“Grantaire.” Enjolras whispers urgently, shifting all his weight off of Grantaire. He reaches down and rips off the front of Grantaire's t-shirt in one swift pull, bunches it up in his hand and presses it to Grantaire's neck.

“ **Easy. Calm.** ” Enjolras says, touching his other hand to Grantaire's chest. Grantaire's breathing and heartbeat both obediently slow down. That's better. Much better. Grantaire is cold and he can't lift his hand high enough to get a hold of Enjolras' blood-drenched shirt, but it at least feels less like he's dying. Also Enjolras is back in control, which means Grantaire can relax and let him be in charge. Everything works better with Enjolras in charge.

“'s good.” Grantaire murmurs. Even with his breathing under control his voice still sounds weak.

“ _Enjolras._ ” Bossuet calls, his tone suggesting that this isn't the first time he's tried gaining their attention. “You need to talk to us here. Please.”

“He'll be okay, I promise. Just get us home.” Enjolras says, voice heavy with guilt while keeping his eyes on Grantaire. He gently presses down on Grantaire's chest above his heart.

“This needs to be **slower, Grantaire.** ” Enjolras says, leaning close enough that their noses touch. Grantaire's heart obeys again, slowing down to a crawl.

“Trying to...put me to sleep?” Grantaire just barely gets out, going for snide but it doesn't really translate with how weak his voice is.

“Stay awake until we get home if you can.” Enjolras says softly and covers Grantaire's cheek with a hand. His skin feels much warmer than usual and Grantaire happily drops his head against it.

“Enjolras, what about you?” Joly asks from the front, voice tense.

“I'm fine.” Enjolras says dismissively, shaking his head. But he does turn to glance at them this times and something he sees makes him repeat, more gently. “I'm fine.” He moves up and leans into the space between the front seats and says something more – not moving very far as he keeps both of his hands on Grantaire, one pressing the piece of t-shirt to Grantaire neck, the other on Grantaire's cheek, thumb rubbing over his temple – but it is far enough out of Grantaire's immediate space that he can't make out the words.

Joly says something and Bossuet chimes in at the end, their voices overlapping. There's a pause and then Enjolras answers something short, voice grateful. Bossuet answers back with a long string of words that get more firm and insistent the longer he continues. Grantaire doesn't hear the end of it. At some point his focus slips away from the familiar rhythm of Bossuet's speech to the slow but steady beat of his own heart. The pounding of it fills his mind for what must be several moments because when he catches himself at it and turns his attention outward again Bossuet has stopped talking and Enjolras is back in Grantaire's space. He bumps their foreheads lightly together and makes wordless soothing noises.

Grantaire hums a short answer and tries getting a hold of Enjolras' shirt again - without success, his arm just barely twitches upwards when he tries - while Enjolras moves up to press his nose into Grantaire's hair. Enjolras sighs and then the soft noises he makes are replaced with words.

“I'm sorry, Grantaire. Sorry.” Enjolras murmurs under his breath.

“-at's two.” Grantaire reminds him weakly. Enjolras only gets three apologies each time, although Grantaire has long suspected him of cheating when Grantaire is asleep and unable to keep count.

“Two.” Enjolras agrees, brushing hair away from Grantaire's face and presses his lips -

\- And -

\- And. Kisses. Grantaire. Three times. Pressing two to his temple and the one to his cheek. Light and short, but unmistakeably _there_.

Kissing is not...Is not a thing that usually happens here. Is not a thing that happens. Grantaire can count on one hand the number of times Enjolras has kissed him, and there were extenuating circumstances at each one. Two weeks ago Enjolras kissed Grantaire on the forehead for killing a man to protect him and Bahorel, and that had been a benediction more than anything else. Three kisses now are completely unfounded. Enjolras may have taken more blood than usual, but it is hardly an occurrence rare enough to call for _kissing_. He'd kissed him last night too, Grantaire remembers suddenly, on the back of his hand. That's four in less than twenty-four hours. Grantaire doesn't know how to feel about that.

Enjolras noses at Grantaire's temple and goes back to making soft soothing noises, like nothing out of the ordinary just happened.

Maybe the blood loss is messing with Grantaire's head. He doesn't know if he will be relieved or disappointed if that turns out to be the cause. It's not impossible as his grasp on the surroundings is rather tenuous at the moment. This is proven when they arrive outside their building and Grantaire doesn't feel the difference between being in a moving car and a still one. He only realizes they have stopped because Enjolras starts moving.

Enjolras sits up and shifts his grip on Grantaire, getting ready to lift him up. He pushes one arm beneath Grantaire's neck and uses that hand to hold the t-shirt against the bite, leaving the other arm free to hook under Grantaire's knees.

“No – you're hurt.” Grantaire reminds Enjolras before he starts lifting. Enjolras heals quickly but not that quickly. If Grantaire's sense of time isn't completely off, Enjolras should still be scabbing over. Not that Enjolras isn't capable of lifting Grantaire while still healing – he has done that plenty of times before. This time they're not just the two of them though, and so _he doesn't have to_.

“Bossuet.” Grantaire mumbles.

Enjolras stares down at him in surprise before nodding shortly. Bossuet must have heard Grantaire because moments later he opens the car door and reaches for Grantaire. Enjolras lets him pick up Grantaire with clear reluctance and keeps a hand on the t-shirt pressed against Grantaire's neck.

Bossuet is really warm. Enjolras isn't cold blooded, but he is generally a couple of noticeable degrees colder than regular humans. While the heat of Enjolras' body had been nice, the heat Bossuet gives of is really _really_ nice. Grantaire moans a little when Bossuet lifts him up and he is settled against a warm chest. Very pleased, Grantaire manages to roll his head forward and bury his face in the crook of Bossuet's neck. He can feel Bossuet's pulse against his cheek. It seems very fast compared to the almost glacial pace set by Grantaire's own heart.

“It'd be easier if I do that.” Bossuet tells someone. 

Enjolras answers something too low and far away for Grantaire to make out before lifting Grantaire's hand and placing it on top of the t-shirt. “ **Hold this.** ” Enjolras says – Grantaire definitely hears that.

When Bossuet walks he rocks Grantaire more than Enjolras usually does. It's not unpleasant. Very soothing actually, Grantaire has to remind himself that Enjolras told him not to fall asleep yet. After what seems like a short amount of walking Bossuet suddenly backtracks and makes a sharp turn - trying to avoid someone seeing them Grantaire assumes. Grantaire gets jostled unpleasantly against Bousset's chest and is shaken out of the doze he was slipping into.

“If you drop me Enjolras will be so mad.” Grantaire mumbles when Bousset has started walking again and Grantaire guesses the danger of discovery has passed. It's questionably how much of that Bossuet can hear, since Grantaire doesn't bother lifting his mouth away from the skin it's pressed against. But Bossuet understands enough to chuckle lightly. Grantaire feels it vibrate through Bousset's chest and throat.

“I would never.” Bossuet promises and tightens his grip briefly in a gentle squeeze.

It doesn't feel like much time has passed before Bossuet comes to a halt and gently lowers Grantaire onto a soft surface that smells of Enjolras. Bossuet's heat disappears and then Enjolras is there, brushing Grantaire's cheek and carefully lifting Grantaire's hand away from the t-shirt.

“ 'jolras...” Grantaire slurs, blinking his eyes open long enough to see a flash of blue eyes.

“You can sleep. It's okay. You did good. You can sleep now.” Enjolras says and Grantaire does.

****

Grantaire is woken by someone touching his neck. As he blinks his eyes open he has a moment of confusion when he realizes it isn't Enjolras – followed by an even briefer moment of fright when he realizes Enjolras isn't present _at all_ – before he recognizes Joly and remembers how he got here.

“Hi.” Grantaire mumbles and attempts a smile. More awake now, he notices the sound of people talking in the next room. A mental prod gives him the tingling in the back of his mind that means Enjolras is nearby. Of course he is, Enjolras wouldn't go anywhere right now.

Grantaire feels sore all over, like he has somehow overworked every single muscle in his body. His arm is heavy, but he manages to get it out from beneath the covers and up to touch his neck. There's gaze taped to his neck, and stitches beneath that. The bite doesn't hurt, even when he turns his head. He can feel the slight pull of the stitches as the skin stretches, but there's no pain, only a cold numbness. He is cold all over, actually. His t-shirt – or whatever is left of it after Enjolras used it as bandages - is gone. So is his socks and the sheath that keeps the knife strapped to his leg - he still has his pants on this time though.

“How long did I sleep?” Grantaire asks.

“A little over three hours. Drink this.” Joly answers, and pulls a juice box out from somewhere, the little straw already in it. Grantaire obediently opens his mouth when Joly holds it up for him.

“It seems you always end up hurt - even when you're not the one who got shot.” Joly muses while moving Grantaire's hand away from his neck.

“Not always. When I'm not careful enough.” Enjolras says, slipping in through the door and quickly closing it behind himself.

“You did fine.” Grantaire says automatically and then it registers that Enjolras is standing right there, in clean clothes and looking perfectly whole again. Grantaire pushes the juice box away and struggles up, ignoring Joly's concerned protest and reaching a hand out. “Enjolras - ”

Enjolras gets there and takes Grantaire's weight just as he starts tipping over and his vision blacks out. Grantaire doesn't wait for the blood to get pumped back to his head, but blindly pushes a hand up beneath Enjolras' shirt and feels the small scars where three bullet holes used to be.

“It's okay.” Enjolras says, threading his fingers into the hair at the back of Grantaire's neck.

“You scared me.” Grantaire says and drops forward, his forehead landing on Enjolras' shoulder. He pats over the scars an extra time for good measure. They will disappear soon enough, leaving flawless skin with no hint of past trauma. “You got shot – you know I hate when you do that - but where they got you, that was bad, Enjolras, that was really bad. You did fine, okay? Anyone but you would have handled it much worse. You did fine.”

Leaning on him like this – his hand still on Enjolras' chest, his head pressed against Enjolras' shoulder and Enjolras' hand in Grantaire's hair – it doesn't seem like enough contact. Grantaire promptly crawls into Enjolras' lap and hooks an arm around the back of his neck. Enjolras helps, tucking him close enough that Grantaire can feel Enjolras' chest expanding with every breath, lung healed and functional again. If they stay like this for a couple of minutes Grantaire knows from experience that Enjolras' breathing will match his. It's one of the few areas where Grantaire leads and Enjolras follows.

“It's okay – we're okay.” Enjolras murmurs, rubbing small circles down Grantaire's spine.

Waking up without Enjolras right there was unsettling, but this – Enjolras' arms around him, holding him close - _this_ is more like it. Enjolras always stays close after feeding. Usually Grantaire would have woken up with Enjolras in the bed beside him. If the others weren't here -

But no. That's not it. Enjolras hasn't let the others' presence stop him from doing anything strange and codependent before. No, Enjolras wasn't in the bed because of their....disagreement. Because Grantaire has been spending the last two days trying to get away from Enjolras. Because Enjolras wasn't sure Grantaire would want him to be there.

Grantaire is definitely still angry at Enjolras, but he is also only human. He's hurt and only a few hours ago Enjolras was bleeding out in front of him. Grantaire feels raw and open and needy. Angry or not, Enjolras' presence is the most reassuring thing Grantaire knows and right now he doesn't have the energy to pretend touching Enjolras isn't the best thing he can think of. He lets himself go boneless and simply soaks up the experience - Enjolras' pulse beating slowly beneath his skin, his breath ghosting over Grantaire's hair, arms holding on just as tightly as Grantaire is. Even with the acid sting of betrayal still very much present, Grantaire feels himself settle, feels something in his chest that has been aching for days being soothed.

After a short while Enjolras tilts his head oddly and a moment later he lifts his hand away from Grantaire's back. He's talking with Joly, Grantaire realizes, or mouthing and gesturing with him more specifically, since neither of them are making any sounds. Grantaire lets them go back and forth a couple of times before interrupting.

“That's rude.” Grantaire says. “Even if you aren't talking about me.”

“Sorry.” Enjolras says and his hand returns to Grantaire's back.”Joly is just worried about you.”

“Everybody is.” Grantaire sighs and it's about time to move away, he thinks reluctantly. He shifts to make Enjolras loosen his grip and awkwardly crawls out of Enjolras' lap again. Enjolras keeps a hand between Grantaire's shoulders, which stops Grantaire from falling over while he moves the short distance.

“Give me the juice again then.” Grantaire says, while blinking away the dark edges that has crept back into his vision.

Joly doesn't need telling twice, but immediately shoves the juice box forward again. He also takes the opportunity to check Grantaire's pulse on the uninjured side of his neck – but apparently only to check if it is there, because he moves his hand away again too quickly to have counted anything and tips Grantaire's chin up instead.

“You two make a terrible patient. I don't know what to do with you.” Joly tells Grantaire solemnly before sending Enjolras a dark look. Grantaire glances at Enjolras too, wondering what he did to earn that.

“I told him you've never gotten an infection from a bite.” Enjolras explains. “Which _still_ wasn't because I think cleaning it is pointless, Joly. I mentioned it to stop you from worrying about it.”

Grantaire finishes the juice box, which is immediately taking away by Joly. He pulls the little straw out of the box and places it in a mug from the nightstand before handing that to Grantaire with an expectant look. Grantaire obediently takes it and goes back to drinking. This times it's just water.

“Do you know how much bacteria there is in the human mouth?” Joly asks.

It's probably meant rhetorically, but Grantaire still pushes the straw to the corner of his mouth to guess “A lot?”

“More than that.” Joly says darkly. “Please tell me you have a good reason for not doing your stuff in a more sanitary way? I get today was an emergency, but when it's just run of the mill upkeep?”

“Because it's _magic_. Where he gets it from matters. It wouldn't work if we tapped it out of me beforehand and gave it to him in a bottle.” Grantaire says. “Also, 'our stuff'? That's what we're calling it now?”

“Joly, I think that's cheating.” Enjolras says. “Put it in the hat or go ask Jehan about it.”

“Jehan will know?” Joly perks up, already moving toward the door.

“'The hat?'” Grantaire echoes, confused, and rests the now empty mug against his knee. Enjolras takes it from him and places it on the floor.

“Probably, or Combeferre. He's helping Jehan with the book on blood magic.” Enjolras tells Joly, who nods, pauses to point threateningly at Enjolras with a severe look in some kind of warning, and then leaves the room.

“I still can't believe you let Jehan have that book. He'll get himself in trouble.” Grantaire says. “And what hat?”

“The others have questions about... 'our stuff'. It's clear they should be answered sooner rather than later, so we will be answering them as soon as you're up to it.” Enjolras explains, while his hand drifts up to curl around the back of Grantaire's neck.

“And the questions goes in the hat?” Grantaire guesses, gratefully leaning his weight back into Enjolras' hand.

“And then we pull them out one at a time.” Enjolras nods “Bahorel's idea, so they don't have to fight about who goes first - which they nearly did.”

“How much do you bet Bahorel got that from his stint in– What's that smell?” Grantaire asks, interrupting himself. Joly left the door open and some amazing scent is coming in through it.

“Feuilly is making you steak.” Enjolras says.

_Why_? Grantaire nearly asks, but manages to stop himself. He has lost blood. Eating something will obviously help in replenishing that. Feuilly making him food is a logical response, like Joly pressing liquids on him. The thing is that Enjolras can't cook, and Grantaire can't stand up long enough to make something when he is like this. Enjolras always gets something hot brought to them that is as nourishing and delicious as anyone could wish for – but someone cooking for Grantaire in his own kitchen seems strange and almost magical.

“Do you want to eat out there?” Enjolras asks, having noticed Grantaire's longing looks towards the door.

“...Will you let me walk myself there?” Grantaire asks. After a moment’s hesitation Enjolras nods with a great deal of reluctance.

Grantaire measures the distance from the bed to the door with his eyes and then extrapolates the distance beyond that from memory. It's a bad idea. The reason he has managed to sit upright this long is largely because of the grip Enjolras has on him.

On the other hand the others are out there and Feuilly is _making him_ food.

“In the living room. I'll stay in a couch.” Grantaire says.

“We should get you a t-shirt, then.” Enjolras says.

Grantaire takes that as the warning it is meant and digs both of his hands into the sheets, anchoring himself before Enjolras lets go of him. Grantaire's arms start shaking, but he stays up on his own for the short time it takes Enjolras to get to the closet and back. Grantaire is so impressed with himself that he lifts his arms up to help Enjolras get the t-shirt over his head. That proves a bit too ambitious when a spell of dizzyness strikes and Enjolras has to save him from tipping over.

“Okay?” Enjolras asks, smoothing the fabric down over Grantaire's stomach while keeping him steady with a hand on his shoulder. He glances at Grantaire's pants and frowns briefly, perhaps regretting that he didn't grab some clean ones while he was in the closet.

Grantaire breathes in and out a couple of times, letting the worst pass before replying “I'm good.”

“We could just get the others in here instead.” Enjolras offers gently. “You know you'll fall asleep as soon as you're done eating anyway.”

There is that. And also the fact Grantaire will probably fall over before getting to a couch. But the others usually stay out of the bedroom and having all of them in here at once would feel like an intrusion somehow.

“No. Couch.” Grantaire answers and gestures for Enjolras to move out of his way.

Slow and steady is not an option for Grantaire. If he tries to take it slow he probably won't make it out of the room. Enjolras is not expecting him to make it either, Grantaire knows. He's going along with it because he knows he will be allowed to carry Grantaire when Grantaire has tried and failed on his own - and because he is bad at saying no to Grantaire right after a feeding. Grantaire thinks he might have a shot if he moves quickly enough though. Covering the distance before his body catches up to him, or as much of it as possible.

That is why, when Enjolras has moved to the side, Grantaire throws himself forward without further warning and hits the ground running. The nausea returns with a vengeance and his vision turns dark again almost instantly, but by then he is nearly at the doorway and manages to stumble the two lasts steps. He blindly grabs onto the door frame and clings to it for support, legs shaking unsteadily beneath him, sweating and heart pounding madly. There are two hands on Grantaire's back as soon as he stops moving and Enjolras makes a soft admonishing sound. He doesn't say anything beyond that though, but simply stays there taking Grantaire's weight.

There is a rushing sound in Grantaire's ears and the shaking of his legs seems to be getting worse, so Grantaire only waits the couple of seconds it takes for his vision to return before attempting the next leg of his journey.

The distance from the door to the nearest couch looks longer than he had remembered it. Still, he makes it to the couch. Somehow. Rather than attempting to make a turn around the couch, Grantaire uses his momentum to tip over the armrest. He lands on top of Bahorel, but that is an unimportant detail and doesn't change the fact that Grantaire got there by his own power.

“Ha.” Grantaire wheezes out in triumph and then “Sorry.” to Bahorel. Grantaire should get off of Bahorel, but he will need a couple of minutes to collect himself. Everything is spinning, and Grantaire is not sure if he'll vomit or pass out if he tries moving again, but it will be at least one of them.

“Jesus, Grantaire, you're cold.” Bahorel says and gently moves Grantaire down next to himself on the couch and wraps both - _warm_ \- arms around him. Grantaire gratefully drops his head onto Bahorel's shoulder and closes his eyes. “Is that normal?” Bahorel asks.

“He usually is at this point.” Enjolras answers from somewhere above. A blanket is draped over Grantaire and gets efficiently tucked in around him. It's the ugly green one Bossuet made, Grantaire's favorite.

“You can't just heal him like you did when he got shot?” Bahorel asks.

“Not when he got hurt healing me.” Enjolras says

“It can't go both ways, that'd be redundant.” Grantaire says. “And shouldn't that have gone in the hat?”

“I've already told some of the others” Enjolras says and rubs Grantaire's shoulder through the blanket, before pulling away. “I'll go check on the food. He might fall asleep on you.” He warns Bossuet.

“I'll let you know.” Bossuet says as Enjolras leaves.

Grantaire snorts. “He'll know before you notice.”

“Creepy.” Bahorel says cheerfully. He adjusts his grip on Grantaire before continuing “Speaking of. I hear you traumatized a werewolf today?”

“Bossuet didn't look away?” Grantaire guesses. What a shame, Bossuet had been so good at following instructions until that point.

“Not that werewolf. A werewolf you care a great deal less for, involving a knife.” Bahorel clarifies.

“Oh, that.... I think _traumatized_ is an exaggeration.”

“I have seen you use that knife.” Bahorel says. “Trust me, it is terrifying.”

“ _Grantaire_.” Jehan says, voice appearing above them. Warm hands take hold of Grantaire's face and tips it up. “Do we have to have the conversation about being shot again?”

“I did not get shot this time.” Grantaire points out, cracking his eyes open to blink up at Jehan. The spinning has stopped but his vision is still blurry around the edges.

“Joly tells me you did by proxy.” Jehan says.

“How can by proxy count?” Grantaire asks. “Nothing touched me.”

“The ground touched you. If it makes you fall over it counts.” Jehan declares. “But I'll concede it wasn't your fault this time.” He allows.

“Very merciful.” Bahorel says.

“Very. You get special treatment because you're my favorite.” Jehan tells Grantaire. He says it likes he's quoting something, and after a moment Grantaire remembers when it's from.

“I doubt that.” Grantaire answers.

“One of my favorites then, if you'll believe that.” Jehan says. He leans down and drops a kiss on Grantaire's forehead - and then one on Bahorel's cheek as well, since it is right there – before leaving them with noises about letting Grantaire rest.

Grantaire is starting to feel exhausted, but doesn't get the time for much rest because Enjolras reappears shortly after with a bowl and a fork. Grantaire is about to protest that he was promised steak, but on a closer inspection the bowl does contain steak, just cut into pieces and mixed with green stuff. There is something fundamentally wrong about serving steak like that, but Grantaire quickly grows to appreciate it when he realizes it means he doesn't have to move far out of his blanket/Bahorel cocoon to eat.

Enjolras plucks the bowl out of Grantaire's hand as soon as he is done and replaces it with another juice box.

“Are you up for some questions now?” Enjolras asks, sitting down next to Grantaire on the couch. “Before you fall asleep?”

“Questions?” Grantaire asks, slightly distracted because Enjolras is suddenly very much _there_. Right there. Just _being_. Grantaire has the niggling feeling he should be doing something, but he can't place what it is.

“From the hat.” Bahorel explains helpfully, pointing, and Grantaire's mind finally catches up.

“Oh. The hat.” Grantaire echoes, following Bahorel's finger and spotting a firefighter hat lying on its side on the coffee table, little pieces of paper spilling out of it. He somehow hasn't noticed it until now, despite it being bright red and not a usual feature of the coffee table. He hasn't noticed a lot of things Grantaire realizes. He doesn't even have a grasp on all the people who is in the room, apart from a primal feeling it is people he is safe with.

“Sure.” Grantaire says and makes an effort to straighten up. He tries looking around the living room to take note of who is there and locates Combeferre and Jehan on the nearest couch, but has trouble focusing after that.

Enjolras puts a hand on Grantaire's shoulder and presses down gently, until Grantaire stops trying to sit up on his own powers, and goes boneless against Bahorel again. Walking to the couch was probably a bad idea. The rushing sound is back in his ears.

“Okay, no questions today.” Enjolras tells the room at large and takes the juice box out of Grantaire's lax grip.

“Good call.” Bahorel says, petting the top of Grantaire's head.

Grantaire hums in agreement. He is warm and safe and Bahorel continues petting him and Enjolras is nearby. Maybe he will just close his eyes and lay still for a while

****

Creating a thrall is very similar to creating a vampire.

Both starts with a vampire feeding from a human, followed by the human drinking some of the vampire's blood, which has to be giving with a clear intention. It is important to understand that vampirism is not a virus, not a mortal one at least. It does not grow and take hold simply because it is introduced into a suitable host. It needs a very specific source of power to thrive; blood sacrifice, to be exact.

This is why the exchange of blood isn't enough to create a vampire, but needs the intention of the vampire as well. The magic in a vampire's blood starts degrading as soon as it leaves their body, cut off from its source of power. To keep this from happening the vampire has to create a connection to the human, to keep the blood they give connected to themselves. With this connection the vampire's blood retains it abilities, influencing the young one until they kill their first human while feeding. The blood sacrifice awakens the once-human's own power, which automatically destroys the ties the older vampire made. This transformation rarely takes long, as most soon-to-be vampires has just suffered major blood loss and therefore immediately feel the Hunger.

Creating a thrall follows many of the same steps. Only you anchor the connection more securely in the human's mind and keep them from feeding with an order, thus making it impossible to complete the transformation. Then you have a thrall, traces of vampire in their blood but still more human than anything. More importantly, their mind and body is tied to your own through your blood, a subject to your will.

“Quite an ingenious innovation.” Raoul had said neutrally after telling Grantaire all this, a rainy day in 1946. Enjolras hadn't been there which was why Raoul had been able to add, with some admiration coloring his voice. “I would like to have met the vampire who thought of it. It was a great deal before my time, I'm afraid. I have been able to trace it as far back as 900 BC.”

“You're assuming he did it on purpose. Might just have been an accident.” Grantaire had pointed out. “But this could be the reason you vampires treat us so terribly – apart from the simple fact that you can.” Grantaire had mused, putting a vicious emphasis on the 'you'. He usually treats Raoul more amiably, but this had been the first time in weeks he had left the apartment and he had not been happy about it. Raoul had told Enjolras one of his theories about why Grantaire hadn't lost his mind yet, a theory which had scared Enjolras immensely. Raoul knew perfectly well what would set Enjolras off and had only shared this particular theory because at least half of his social circle had recently ceased existing and he was bored. Grantaire knew it had been deliberate because Raoul had shared that particular theory with him years earlier, being careful to do it while Enjolras wasn't around.

“You could just as easily have ended up like us - controlled, mindless - and that scares you.” Grantaire had continued, leaning forward and smiling toothily.“The only thing separating you and me is a moments intention and a single bestial murder.”

Creating a thrall is very similar to creating a vampire. This is because creating a thrall is the process of creating a vampire, halted indefinitely and the result manipulated into another purpose. Grantaire has a little bit of vampire in him – 2% if Raoul is to be believed – and at no time does he feel this more than when he has given a lot of blood to Enjolras. It's like the little bits of vampire is suddenly reminded of their original purpose.

The second time Grantaire wakes up it is to the smell of human blood nearby and the insistent burn of Hunger in his stomach. He is halfway out of the bed before his mind catches up to his body and he remembers why following the smell would be a bad idea. Still groggy from sleep Grantaire tries backpedaling and ends up falling over the edge of the bed onto the floor. He gasps out half a curse and pulls some bedding down to cover his head. There's thankfully only a single human heartbeat in the next room, but Grantaire can feel the pounding of it as clearly as if he had his hand wrapped around the heart itself.

“R,” Enjolras says, coming in from the living room and pausing in the doorway. “You're on the floor.” He sighs, not sounding very surprised, before walking to Grantaire with quick steps.

Grantaire whines as Enjolras removes the covers and pulls him up to a sitting position. The delicious smell from the living room makes his stomach cramp painfully. Grantaire hides his face against Enjolras' chest instead and breathes deeply. This is better. Enjolras – perfect Enjolras – doesn't smell of anything but himself.

“It's bad this time?” Enjolras guesses.

Grantaire nods. “I don't know how you stand it.”

“It's Feuilly.” Enjolras says, and Grantaire can’t tell whether that is supposed to help him ignore it right now, or whether it's supposed to explain Enjolras' own control. Either way it's no help. Grantaire _knows_ it's Feuilly who is smelling delicious in the next room and it is doing nothing to quench the Hunger, and Enjolras always has exceptional control, whether it is Feuilly or not.

Enjolras has never ordered Grantaire not to bite anyone, so it's still possible for Grantaire to slip up and accidentally become a vampire. It's a disturbing thought – not just because Enjolras wouldn't have anyone to feed him, but also because Grantaire would make a terrible vampire. Or a good one, depending on your point of view. Grantaire won’t ask for that order though. Not when he knows Enjolras' Hunger is stronger than what Grantaire gets. Not when Enjolras never has anything to stop him from acting on it than pure self control.

“I'm sorry you have to deal with this.” Enjolras says. “So sorry.”

“No, no. That's four. You only get three.” Grantaire says tilting his head up to glare at Enjolras' chin.

“I bit you twice.” Enjolras points out.

“No, it doesn't work like that. It has never worked like that. You get three sorries.” Grantaire says, and then he has to hide his face again because Feuilly is walking into the bedroom.

“Here.” Feuilly says and Grantaire feels Enjolras stretch up to take something from him.

“Thank you.” Enjolras says. “You should go.”

A warm mug is nudged against Grantaire's chin. With it sitting right there under his nose, the sweet smell of mulled wine register through the enthralling scent rolling off of Feuilly. Sighing in relief Grantaire takes the mug and gulps down a couple of scolding mouthfuls.

Enjolras always gets Grantaire mulled wine when he's Hungry. Alcohol dulls the Hunger a little, as Grantaire figured out a long time ago. There's no reason it has to come in the form of mulled wine really, apart from the fact that that is how Enjolras has always chosen to do it. It's conceivable that the warmth might make it work better as a substitute for blood, and the spices in this one does mask the smell of blood a little, so perhaps there is some sense to Enjolras' choice after all.

“All right.” Feuilly says, dragging the vowels out.

Grantaire feels Feuilly's eyes on him and looks up to meet them, now that the urge to bite him is a little more in hand. Feuilly looks tired, but smiles after a moment.

“All right. Take care.” Feuilly says and pats Enjolras on the shoulder. He doesn't touch Grantaire, which Grantaire is very grateful for. “Call if you need anything.” He adds, more a command than an offer, before leaving.

Once Feuilly is out of the apartment, the painful burning in Grantaire's stomach eases a little.

“What time is it?” Grantaire asks, glancing towards the windows. The curtains are down, but there's light streaming in around the edge. He's pretty sure it was dark outside last time he was awake.

“Seven a.m.. It's Sunday.” Enjolras says. “Do you want anything?”

That makes it several hours since the steak. He should probably eat something, but with Hunger in his stomach, solid food never seems appetizing. Right now he feels too exhausted to make the effort.

“More sleep?” Grantaire asks and sets the mug down with one hand while reaching for the discarded covers with the other.

Enjolras helps him back into the bed, untangles the covers and spreads them over Grantaire – and hesitates. And steps back.

This is weird. Startlingly, viscerally weird. Everything since Enjolras had been shot had been easy. It was like muscle memory, automatic, with no thought required. But now it seems that the danger has passed enough for their earlier problems to come back to the forefront.

Grantaire is awake enough to know why Enjolras doesn't follow him into the bed, but he is startled by how _wrong_ it feels. When Grantaire is recovering from a bite Enjolras stays close, and when Grantaire is feeling Hunger Enjolras stays very close. Constantly touching-close. Last time Grantaire gave this much blood, he'd spent the night with his head on a pillow in Enjolras' lap. Every time Grantaire was woken by a human walking past their door Enjolras had distracted him with stories of how wrong the professor had been at his last history lecture. Grantaire had been lulled back to sleep while Enjolras petted his hair and complained about the industrial revolution.

Grantaire can have that now too, he only has to ask. He nearly does ask, opening his mouth and moving his hand in Enjolras' direction to reach for him – but then he remembers clawing chest pain and crying in a bathroom and thinks better of it. He lets the hand go still and closes his mouth without a sound.

Enjolras must have noticed, but doesn't comment. He stays silent and out of the bed while Grantaire falls asleep again.

****

It is darker outside the next time Grantaire wakes. He feels much better by then. He's woken by his very full bladder making itself known and he ungracefully rolls out of bed to stagger to the bathroom.

He reemerges – very proud not to have fallen over yet - to find Enjolras ready with heated leftovers from the night before. Grantaire blinks at him a couple of times before gathering himself and taking a seat. Since the Hunger has now been replaced with the regular mortal kind of hunger, Grantaire makes short work of the food.

“Still Sunday?” Grantaire asks when he's done. It wouldn't be the first time he's slept days away while healing.

“Yes, Sunday.” Enjolras says. 

Enjolras isn't sitting on the coffee table for once, but is leaning against the armrest of one of the loveseats. There's a careful air to the way he holds himself and whenever he speaks his voice is quiet and neutral, like he's afraid a sudden move or loud noise will scare Grantaire away. It's a little unnerving. Grantaire is not used to Enjolras trying to hide from him. Not that the calm facade is working. Grantaire knows Enjolras too well to miss the nervous energy he's brimming with, even if he is trying to mask it. Usually when Enjolras is like this he paces the room. This forced stillness must be taking a great deal of effort.

“Marius and Bossuet came by while you slept.”

“Did they figure out themselves that no humans were allowed or did you tell them?” Grantaire asks, slumping back in the couch.

“They figured it out and then called ahead to make sure.” Enjolras says. “You told Marius about his kids.”

“I did. I also promised we would take them to Paris. Let them go through the stuff in the apartment.” Grantaire admits.

“It's a good idea. I'm sure some of the others would like to come too. We'll have to figure out what to do about Raoul though.” Enjolras says, subtle hints of a grimace appearing on his face.

“I don't think he's gonna be a problem. You know he usually makes an effort not to piss you off. He'll try to talk with some of them, at most. Might just spy a bit from a distance. If we warn the others he might turn up and we keep an eye on them I'm sure it'll be fine. They did well with the werewolves, didn't they?” Grantaire asks. “What did Marius do with the last one after we left?”

“Not much. His name is Olivier. He promised to inform the merchants that we don't have the mirror and not to bother us about it again. Marius and Courfeyrac helped him transport the bodies back to his place. He seemed to have a plan for how he wanted them buried.”

“You know they've broken Marius' ribs before for fun?” Grantaire says. “It just seems...Did we leave the most reasonable one of them alive by pure luck? Or is he just as crazy as the other two and hiding it better?”

“I do think we got the most reasonable one, but it wasn't by luck alone.” Enjolras says and if he wasn't playing emotionless robot right now Grantaire is sure he would be frowning.

“Benji is dead because he started shooting when he was surprised and didn't stop. Mathis is dead because he attacked Courfeyrac. Olivier went for Bossuet when Benji started it all. Courfeyrac was actually closer but Olivier ignored him. He let the human be and went after another werewolf instead. That shows a sense of fairness. Better than the other two at least.” Enjolras says. “Marius was certain Olivier would do his best to convince the merchants we don't have their mirror anymore.”

“He better.” Grantaire mutters

“We should still be prepared if they decide not to believe him and come looking anyway.” Enjolras says.

“Aren't you glad we didn't leave?” Grantaire asks, mostly in an attempt to crack Enjolras’ neutral facade. He adds a smirk for extra obnoxiousness.

“I stopped a silver bullet meant for Marius yesterday.” Enjolras says, and it is amazing how calm his voice remains. “You know I am. Thank you for making me stay. I'm always grateful when you tell me I'm wrong.”

Surprised, Grantaire looks down. He will never get used to Enjolras praising him.

“This at least wasn't an aggressive move. From what Olivier said they were only asked to get information, not to attack us. But I don't like that the merchants know who we are.” Enjolras continues.

“How do they know?” Grantaire asks, looking up again.

“The arrest record from our trap, according to Olivier. Feuilly is listed as victim and a lot of us are on there as witnesses.” Enjolras explains. “Hopefully they'll believe Olivier.”

“If they don't, the story of how quickly we took down three werewolves might discourage them from looking for the mirror.” Grantaire suggests

“There is that.” Enjolras says slowly, like he is not entirely convinced. “Last time there was one dead body to discourage them and the mirror unaccounted for. Their response was to look for more information.”

“Now there are two dead werewolves and information that the mirror has been destroyed.” Grantaire says.

“You think that's enough to discourage them?” Enjolras asks

“One dead man with fingerpaint last time and even with a missing magic mirror as encouragement and a list of our names their only move was to send a third party for more information. This time we've killed two werewolves and they have information that there is no mirror to get back. I think they should be plenty discouraged. We're not worth the effort.” Grantaire says. “Not unless they hold a grudge. But maybe I should have drawn some of the Hungarian signs on our survivor to drive the point home.”

“Knowing you, I'm sure you scared him more than enough.”

“They put three bullets in you.” Grantaire says, unapologetic. “Marius was the one who shot them, right? Is he okay with that?”

“I think so. He seemed more concerned about his kids when he was here. And you and me.”

“Well, we did get shot. You did, and I felt it.” Grantaire says. “What's that about Enjolras? Last time we thought it was because the bullet was special, but this time it was just silver. Silver shouldn't do you anything.”

And just like that the neutrality slips away and something eager and nervous blooms on Enjolras face.

“I think the connection is getting stronger.” Enjolras says, pointing between himself and Grantaire. “I've gotten things from you a couple of times.”

“You've what?” Grantaire says, straightening up in surprise.

“How did you think I found you at Joly's place when you'd been shot?” Enjolras says, leaning forward. “I felt you get shot and - I don't know how much later it started, but I was on my way – and then there was a pull, like a compass needle directing me. I could tell it was you. It felt like you were calling me.”

Grantaire swallows. He remembers being in pain and wondering why Enjolras wasn't there. Remembers recognizing his reincarnated friends and not caring because what he wanted more than anything was Enjolras. Remembers digging into the back of his own mind, desperately searching for any hint of Enjolras' presence.

“You were the one doing it.” Enjolras continues. “I could hear your heartbeat on the stairs, but the pull didn't stop until you saw me.”

“Why haven't you mentioned this before?” Grantaire asks.

“Because it started when I realized how I love you.” Enjolras says, matter of fact.

Something twists in Grantaire's chest, and he has to just breathe through the pain and anxiety those words cause. Enjolras doesn't say anything, but waits for Grantaire to respond. He's making a point, that he haven't let that subject go, but is leaving it up to Grantaire whether they should stay on topic or not.

“So that - me getting shot - wasn't the only time.” Grantaire clarifies.

“I have gotten...impressions from you. A sense of your - not your thoughts, but the rhythm of them. It's like waves of activity. Sometimes I can tell your mood from it, but it's not always that clear. I get more from your heartbeat and that I hear all the time. Mostly all I get out of it is another noise that means you're alive.”

“Sometimes you can...hear my mind?” Grantaire says.

Enjolras nods.

“And this doesn't – Okay, no. Let me preface this by saying I am not upset that you have been hearing my neurons firing and I know you wouldn't mess with it - But you started sensing _my mind_ and you weren't concerned?” Grantaire asks, incredulous.

“I was worried at first, but then I realized that I can't do it when you're mad at me.” Enjolras explains, looking pleased. “I've tried looking and I don't get anything when you don't want me there. You know how to keep me out, even if you aren't doing it consciously.”

“That's not - I'm not supposed to be able to do that. To send you things or keep you out or have any control over this at all. It's not supposed to work like that.”

“'Supposed to' is not rules we have to follow.” Enjolras says. “You are a subject to my will. That is what Raoul said and that is the _only_ rule. Everything else is what follows when someone like a vampire has that kind of power over someone. But it doesn't have to. It's not part of the connection itself.”

Grantaire gapes. Not so much because of what Enjolras is saying, but from the fact that _Enjolras is saying it_. Grantaire is pretty sure that was the most Enjolras has ever said on the subject in one continuous go. Sure, he avoided the word 'thrall' and he is grimacing like the words left a bad taste in his mouth but this is still amazing progress. 

“The only rule is that I'm in charge and I say you can do that.” Enjolras continues, to Grantaire's amazement. “I say you can do anything you want to with this thing I've tied you with. I want to feel it if you're reaching for me and I want you to be able to keep me out of your head. So you can.”

“This is why the mind thing doesn't bother you.” Grantaire guesses. “Because I can do things. The connection seems to have gotten stronger, but you're not freaking out because I can do things with it now.”

Enjolras is quiet for a moment, long enough that Grantaire knows his words are carefully chosen when he replies. “I realized I love you. That I wanted more from you, that I wanted you closer.” Grantaire makes a weak noise of protest in his throat. There's no real force behind it and Enjolras easily speaks over it. “I think that has made it easier for things to pass between us. Pain and directions and neurons firing. I would always have wanted you to be able to influence the connection, but now I think I somehow pulled it close enough that you can.”

Enjolras pauses and looks down for a moment, like he's gathering courage, before looking up again and asking. “Do you believe that?” His tone and expression is hurt, undeniably so, and that's not fair at all. Grantaire would prefer the fake neutrality to this.

“Don't...” Grantaire begins with no idea how to finish. Don't bring it up again. Don't make me talk about it. Don't be sad, I can't stand you being sad. Don't be sad because of me, that's unbearable.

“I'm not going to drop this.” Enjolras says fiercely.

“Can we just forget it for today?” Grantaire tries. “This has been an exhausting weekend. Can we put it on hold until tomorrow? I promise I won't run again, Apollo. I'm...” Grantaire cuts himself off, remembering Enjolras complaining about that name yesterday. He gratefully grabs hold of the opportunity to change the subject.

“ _Apollo_. Since when do you have something against that nickname?”

“That's really unsubtle, Grantaire.” Enjolras sighs, but nevertheless answers. “It's not the name, it's the way you were saying it. Normally it's fine, but when you're unhappy you use it differently.”

“I thought you would be used to me mocking you by now.” Grantaire says.

“It's never _me_ you're mocking.” Enjolras bites out. “It's yourself, always yourself. And you've gotten worse about it recently. You stop using my name completely when you're unhappy. Remember Finland, when you didn't get out of bed for three days?”

“It's only eight years ago. Of course I remember, my memory is not _that_ bad.”

“It's the first time I noticed you doing it. You didn't call me anything but Apollo for a month.” Enjolras continues. “You were doing it all of yesterday.”

“....Like I said, this weekend has sucked.” Grantaire grumbles, a little annoyed he wasn't aware he did that with Enjolras' name.

Enjolras gets up from the armrest and takes a seat in the couch Grantaire is sitting in. Grantaire briefly considers scooting back before realizing this would be petty behavior when Enjolras has been giving him plenty of space since he woke up – Especially since Enjolras does him the courtesy of taking the seat the furthest away. It's not that it bothers him either, having Enjolras a couple of feet closer, he realizes. He doesn't feel the desperate need to get away, not the way he felt it yesterday. Today it's more a sense that he should be moving, a memory of yesterday's discomfort.

“We can put it on hold until tomorrow.” Enjolras says. “But I need to make one thing clear now. You are not Icarus.”

“Oh no, Enjolras. I was very very drunk when I said that.” Grantaire protests, cringing. He's been hoping that would be one of those things they don't talk about. But everything is clearly on the table, now that Enjolras managed to talk about the thrall-thing.

“You've never been any less honest when you're drunk.” Enjolras says. “You're not Icarus, and I'm not the sun. You're Patroclus.”

Something in Grantaire's stomach twists. There's one obvious way this comparison can go, especially since Grantaire has used Achilles as a nickname before, but that can't be right.

“Apollo helped kill Patroclus.” Grantaire attempts deflecting.

“I'm not Apollo in this. You've called me Achilles before.” Enjolras says.

“I know and it's a bad comparison. You would never let other people die for the sake of your pride and nobody would mistake me for you.”

“People mistake us all the time. I always get credit when you beat someone.” Enjolras counters. “In Bucharest they thought I fought off four vampires by myself because it didn't occur to anyone you could have helped. There's an entire clan of werewolves in northern Spain who thinks I killed Alicia.”

“You did rip out Alicia's throat.” Grantaire points out.

“After you put silver in her chest.” Enjolras says. “But people mixing us up is not my reason. You're Patroclus because I don't know what I would do if I lost you. I ripped out Alicia's throat because she tried taking you away from me. There was no reason for that; she wasn't moving. You'd put a silver knife in her heart, she was already dying. I was just so furious.”

“I think it was a kindness.” Grantaire says. “It would have taken her several minutes to die and she was in pain.”

“Yes, and if I'd thought of that I wouldn't have touched her.” Enjolras admits. “I wanted to hurt her. She tried killing you. I don't know what I would have done if she'd succeeded.”

“Chase her three times around a city-state?” Grantaire asks, going for a joking tone of voice and missing it by a bit. His mouth feels dry.

“And fight anyone in my way. River gods and all.” Enjolras says, deadly serious, and smiles. It's not a happy smile, there's something fierce and dangerous in it.

Grantaire believes him. That day with Alicia had been the first time Grantaire called Enjolras Achilles, and the comparison had come to him because Enjolras had been covered in blood and containing so much fury he was shaking with it. Grantaire believes Enjolras because he already knew Enjolras would take on anyone that tried hurting Grantaire – mortal or not. Yes, Grantaire has known this for years, but he would never have extended the thought as far as to cast himself as Patroclus.

Frighteningly, some part of him sees the logic behind the comparison.

“You're Patroclus because you're my favorite person in the world.” Enjolras says.

“That's pushing it.” Grantaire says. Embarrassingly his voice catches on the words. “That's not true. I'm sure I can list at least 20 better candidates off the top of my head.”

“There's no one better. You only think so because you're biased when it comes to your own worth.”

“And you're not?” Grantaire retorts, a little hysterically.

“You think I'm biased in your favor? Because that is exactly what I've been trying to tell you.” Satisfaction creeps into Enjolras' smile, then he seems to catch himself and his expression reverts to something more neutral “Sorry, forget that. I'm not trying to trick you. That wasn't the point.”

“What is the point?”

“That you know how important you are to me.” Enjolras says. He shrugs, something almost helpless in the gesture, then he gets up and starts clearing the coffee table.

Grantaire stares at him, feeling....feeling something. Brittle, but not necessarily in a bad way.

Enjolras had _ripped out_ Alicia's throat with his bare hands. Grantaire has been there for 182 years of the world ridiculing and attacking Enjolras because he never could keep his opinions to himself. Because he has to try helping people whenever he gets the chance. 182 years and Enjolras has never hurt anyone unless he had a very good reason to, has always kept the violent instinct the supernatural world gave him tightly controlled - and then Alicia deliberately targeted Grantaire and Enjolras lifted her dying body off the ground and ripped her throat out.

Enjolras didn't make a good Achilles. Not until someone had tried taking Grantaire from him.

Grantaire decides retreat is the safest option. He waits for Enjolras to disappear into the kitchen before mumbling something about a shower and fleeing to the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, anyone not familiar with Achilles and Patroclus? If you haven't googled it yet, here is my attempt at a short version. 
> 
> Achilles and Patroclus are cousins and best friends and/or lovers (depending on who you ask). During the Trojan war Achilles gets pissed at the commander of the greek forces and refuses to fight anymore. The Greeks then gets their ass kicked by the Trojans, to the point where they nearly loses their ships, ie. their way home. Patroclus feels bad about this and begs Achilles' permission to go help them. Achilles lets him borrow his armor, so the Trojan will think Patroclus is Achilles and be appropriately scared for their lives. Patroclus proceeds to kick so much ass the Trojans are forced all the way back to their city, where Patroclus gets backstabbed by Apollo (because greek gods are dicks) and Hector finishes him off.  
> Achilles does not take his death well. He completely loses it - and I don't mean a heroic tear falls down his cheek - I mean he really loses it. Tearing out his own hair, wailing so loudly it can be heard at the bottom of the ocean losing it. It should be mentioned that Achilles has been fated to die young if he kills Hector and that Achilles does not care even a little bit about this, vowing vengeance. Achilles then goes on a killing spree, looking for Hector. On his way he gets interrupted by this river god who is annoyed by all the dead people Achilles has been dropping in his river. Eventually, after having chased him a couple of times around the city, Achilles fights and kills Hector.
> 
> And then some other stuff follows, but this is all the events referenced in the fic.


	6. Chapter 6

Putting everything on hold until tomorrow is a great idea in theory, but Grantaire hits some stumbling blocks while trying to do it in practice. Having fled into the bathroom for safety, Grantaire catches himself hesitating by the door, wondering whether he should lock it. As soon as the thought registers he grimaces and backs away from the door. He never locks the door for Enjolras. The sudden urge to do so worries him. It's a new distance he hasn't himself decided to put there.

Shaking his head Grantaire turns away from the door and starts pulling off his clothes. Not now. He's taking a break. Enjolras agreed they could put it on hold until tomorrow and Grantaire will do his absolute best to take advantage of it. He needs a break. He's so tired of being on guard and uncertain around Enjolras, of constantly feeling off balance.

He is barely out of the shower before he's unsure what to do again. This time the problem is that he forgot to bring a clean change of clothes in his hurry to get away from the living room. Now he can either wear a towel or put on the clothes he slept in for the short trip back to the bedroom for new clothes.

If this was last week, before all this started, there is no doubt he would have gone with the towel. Enjolras has seen him in less than that plenty of times. Right now though, the idea of being half naked around Enjolras is… weird. And oh so awkward. But if he puts on the already used clothes Enjolras will notice and will know it's because Grantaire is feeling uncomfortable. Grantaire can't have that. There is uncomfortableness, clearly, but Grantaire can't be broadcasting it so obviously. Not when he is the one who has been arguing they should just ignore the issues and pretend nothing happened. It would feel like admitting defeat.

A towel it is. Or two towels. Two towels are totally normal and reasonable Grantaire thinks as he digs a second towel out from beneath the sink and drapes it over his shoulders. He straightens – with no sudden dizziness or fuzzy vision! Not having a hangover or missing large quantities of blood is awesome. He should do that more - and pauses in front of the mirror to peel the now wet bandage off of the side of his throat.

At least a dozen of Enjolras' small neat stitches are revealed. Grantaire gently runs a finger over them, the corner of his mouth twitching up. He had wondered whether Enjolras had let Joly take over that job. This made sense though, Enjolras had more experience stitching up bites and they knew he could do it without waking Grantaire.

Grantaire twists around in front of the mirror to inspect his back. Purple bruises are beginning to form where he was pushed into the car. He rearranges the towel around his shoulders to hide the bruises better. Enjolras probably already knows they are there, but it is better not to wave a reminder in front of him. Grantaire kicks the dirty clothes into a pile in the corner of the bathroom and leaves the bathroom. He is enough of an asshole that he knows Enjolras will pick up after him without complaint right after a feeding.

Enjolras, it turns out, is in the kitchen. Grantaire easily makes it across the living room and into the safety of the bedroom without being seen. He gets dressed quickly, allows himself a few seconds to gather himself, and then goes to join Enjolras in the kitchen.

“Did Joly give you the werewolf's blood?” Grantaire asks as soon as he walks into the room because normal, everything is normal. No uncomfortableness or silence here.

Enjolras looks up from a book and pauses, eyes catching on Grantaire's stitches, before he points to a drawer that had been empty last time Grantaire checked. When Grantaire opens the drawer it now contains a plastic bag with the bloodstained pieces of fabric, Grantaire's two silver knives and the gun Marius took from the werewolves.

“Is this now the armory?” Grantaire asks. “You know, another good reason we shouldn't be worried about bringing the others to Paris is that we actually have a collection of weapons to defend ourselves at home.”

“Are you suggesting you can't find a place to purchase that kind of stuff here?” Enjolras asks surprised.

“I've spotted two magic shops so far. But given that our good friends the merchants operate here… I don't think you would like to accidentally fund that kind of organization.”

Enjolras grimaces. “You're right.” His eyes goes to Grantaire's stitches again before skittering away, to look at the floor and the walls instead – away from Grantaire. Usually Grantaire would handle that kind of guilt with touch, but right now hugging Enjolras isn't an option. He may have to cover the stitches up again.

“So, you know, please don't piss off any supernatural creatures while we're here.” Grantaire jokes, a little strained.

“Because I usually do that on purpose.” Enjolras says dryly and his eyes briefly flickers to Grantaire and away again. He nods to the bloodstained fabric. “You better be the one to call Siobhan. You actually know what she can do with those.”

“Not really. I was just gonna ask for something bad and let her decide on the details if the time comes. I'm sure she's got a couple of nasty spells lying around she would love an excuse to try out.” Grantaire says. “You could do that.”

“You should call her.” Enjolras says. “Check the drawer again.”

Grantaire obeys and finds a box in the back of the drawer he hadn't noticed before. Pulling it out he realizes it is a smart phone, still in its packaging.

“You got yourself a new phone.” Grantaire says, and he is surprised by how relieved he is. He has missed having Enjolras' phone more than he had realized.

“Did I?” Enjolras asks.

“Clearly.” Grantaire says, already pulling it out of the box. “When did you have the time to buy this?”

“Grantaire, did I?” Enjolras asks again with more force, making Grantaire look up from the smart phone. Enjolras isn't looking at him though, his eyes are fixed on the kitchen table.

“What?” Grantaire asks, confused.

“Did I get myself a new phone?” Enjolras asks. “Or is it not for me?”

Grantaire's gut reaction to that idea is a resounding no. Then he considers it. Briefly. And yeah, it's still no. On a bad day there's no guarantee what will help, but being in charge of what is in name Enjolras' phone has done so before. It's small things: checking Enjolras' emails, answering messages or abusing the poor telemarketers who occasionally get the number. Grantaire likes being useful and on really bad days small things like deleting spam mail is all he can manage. It's an extra lifeline when his mind turns dark and nothing that has happened the last few days have changed that.

“I don't want a phone. It wouldn't – I mean of course it's yours, don't be stupid.” Grantaire says.

“Okay.” Enjolras nods “If you're sure.”

“I am. It's yours. But I will help you with it, of course.” Grantaire adds.

“Of course.” Enjolras agrees and pushes the box with the phone's manual closer to Grantaire, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a brief smile – all the while his eyes remains fixed on the table. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Grantaire echoes and then, finally losing patience with Enjolras, adds; “I'd do anything for you.”

That gets a reaction. Enjolras' head snaps up, surprised. Not because of what Grantaire said, no, that has always been a well-known fact. It's a surprise because it's one of those things they don't bring up in normal conversation. Grantaire can use it like this though, admitting it out loud doesn't make him feel as vulnerable when he does it to get his way.

“Are you freaking out?” Grantaire asks. “Should I do the speech about informed consent and your options when it comes to blood? I might be a little rusty, we haven't needed to cover that one for ages. You can prompt me if I make a mistake, I know you know it by heart.”

“Yes, I know the speech.” Enjolras says, eyes flickering between Grantaire's face and his throat “I know. I'm not freaking out.”

Grantaire pointedly presses a hand to the side of his throat, covering the stitches. Caught, Enjolras grimaces, his gaze going back to Grantaire's face and finally staying there

“I'm not freaking out.” Enjolras repeats. “I know why we have to do this. I remember, I know. But I'm still unhappy about it. I'm allowed to be unhappy that I have to keep hurting you because it's the best option.”

And that's fair. Grantaire can't argue with that. Still, there's the obvious tension in the way Enjolras holds himself and Grantaire can't help feeling the need to fix it. Like an itch. Enjolras unhappy is better than freaking out, but that doesn't mean it's acceptable either.

Touch is how Grantaire usually comforts Enjolras, but touch is not an option at the moment. Which is...not good. It's suddenly coming back to Grantaire how he ended up with touch as a way of handling Enjolras: after several other strategies had been tried and failed. He sometimes uses distraction when Enjolras feels guilty, pushing until Enjolras is too annoyed with Grantaire to worry about him. But poking any of Enjolras' pressure points right now isn't a good idea either. The truce they've agreed on until tomorrow seems too fragile for that.

There are other ways of distraction than annoyance though. First order of business should be covering up the stitches with something more permanent than Grantaire's hand. And maybe touch isn't entirely out of the picture after all.

“Come help me cover this up.” Grantaire says, moving his hand away from the stitches. He goes to the bathroom before Enjolras can respond and grabs the first-aid kit. When Grantaire turns Enjolras is hovering in the doorway, having followed as expected.

“Yeah?” Enjolras asks with a hesitant, hopeful note in his voice that makes Grantaire feel awful. Why would there be any doubt Grantaire had meant the offer?

Unsettled, Grantaire wordlessly answers by shoving the first-aid kit into Enjolras' arms and leading the way to the bedroom. The light is better in both the bathroom and the kitchen, but the bedroom is more private and will therefore feel safer to Enjolras. Not that vampire instincts seem to be the problem at the moment, but Grantaire is at a loss and using any trick he can think of.

Grantaire sits down on the edge of the bed and tilts his head back, offering up the side of his throat. With a task at hand, Enjolras handles the sight of the stitches without a problem.

“Joly said you weren't supposed to get those wet the first 24 hours.” Enjolras says, pointing at the stitches with one hand while opening the first-aid kit with the other.

“I know Joly's gone to med school twice, but in this one medical area we have more than a century of experience.” Grantaire points out. “And like you said, I've never gotten any infections from this. Although to be fair to Joly, I'm sure that's more your doing than because of any amazing medical abilities I might have.”

“My doing?” Enjolras questions, pausing with a scissor and a roll of band-aid in his hands.

“It doesn't hurt. You know that. I can feel the stitches there, but it doesn't hurt.” Grantaire says and pokes the stitches lightly for emphasize. It's not exactly a pleasant sensation, but it isn't painful either. “It should. It used to before. Hurt like hell, I couldn't turn my head after the first time. It hasn't hurt since the barricade though. So yeah, your doing. I don't think all Joly's academic knowledge is applicable with this one.”

“Following his advice can't hurt though.”

Grantaire is about to suggest Enjolras is only saying that because he doesn't want Joly to get mad at him again, but then Enjolras moves into Grantaire's space and Grantaire freezes. Enjolras is very very close suddenly, as he sticks a large band-aid over Grantaire's stitches. His head is only inches away from Grantaire's, close enough that Grantaire's breath shifts a few strands of his hair. Grantaire makes himself relax again almost instantly, but Enjolras catches it, of course he does. Enjolras is aware of Grantaire's breathing and heartbeat and other biological tells to such a degree he gets no additional information from hearing Grantaire's mind working. Of course he notices Grantaire freeze up when he gets close.

And of course Enjolras responds by moving away again, eyes downcast, and tension piling up behind his shoulders. Grantaire was supposed to fix that, not make it worse. But he did, he made it worse because he's suddenly not used to Enjolras being in his space – _it's like your concept of personal space include each other_ Courfeyrac had said, but not anymore apparently, because Grantaire had frozen and now Enjolras is tense and moving away and Grantaire made it worse and he doesn't know how to _fix it_.

“I think I'm freaking out.” Grantaire says, a sinking feeling in his chest. Worst of all, Enjolras responds by taking a small step back. Grantaire is freaking out and Enjolras thinks moving away will help? Sinking, sinking, falling.

“I think we broke something.” Grantaire manages and his voice seems far away. He's supposed to help, not make things worse. If he can't help Enjolras then what is the point? They can't function like this. Uncomfortable and nervous and unsure around each other. Grantaire can't do this, he can't.

“Grantaire, nothing is broken.” Enjolras says, soothing, and then he's back in Grantaire's space again. Close but not touching.

“I need you to fix this, Enjolras. I can't have it like this. I can't.” Grantaire says, sounding a tad hysterical even to himself. Enjolras' hands twitches towards Grantaire, before pausing.

“Can I touch you?” Enjolras asks. And that there is exactly the problem.

“That! Broken! See?” Grantaire exclaims, pointing at Enjolras' hand.

“Okay, okay.” Enjolras soothes and interrupts Grantaire's wild pointing by cupping Grantaire's face between both of his hands. Grantaire stills under the touch and Enjolras holds him there for a moment, eyes rowing over Grantaire's face, before leaning closer and pressing their foreheads together.

Grantaire closes his eyes. Breathes in, breathes out with Enjolras right there, close and touching, his scent saturating the air, grounding Grantaire. It helps calm the panic a little.

“Didn't you promise we'd fix it, when I was drunk in Courfeyrac and Marius couch? That it would be better tomorrow?” Grantaire asks quietly. “I need you to do that. It doesn't make any sense in my head and _I'm tired_. I'm so tired of having to be mad at you. It's not right, I can't sustain it.”

“I know. I'm tired too.” Enjolras says and squeezes the back of Grantaire's neck. “Just give me a moment to figure out the right thing to say.”

Grantaire relaxes further into Enjolras' grip. Yes _this_ , he tells himself. It's going to be okay, Enjolras is working on it. Enjolras has got this. Enjolras can do anything he sets his mind to.

Reassured, Grantaire jokes “I though you would have several attack plans prepared and ready to go.”

“For tomorrow. Not for this.”

“Must be the old age pressing.”

Enjolras breathes out a short laugh, probably more at the situation than Grantaire's words, before pulling away.

“You trust me.” Enjolras says, squeezing the back of Grantaire's neck again.

“Yes.” Grantaire says, before realizing that that had not been a question. Enjolras nods anyway.

“You trust me.” Enjolras repeats, this time clearly a statement. He moves his hand down to rest over the band-aid, over the bite. “You trust me with your life and with your mind. When you're hurt and when I hurt you. You believe I will always try to do the right thing. Even on your worst days, when you think the world is nothing but misery and pain, you believe in me. What makes love different?”

“Enjolras...” Grantaire protests.

“That seems to be the only area where it doesn't apply. What makes me unsafe there?”

“Enjolras, it's not -” Grantaire squirms. Enjolras doesn't get frightened away by unease this time though. His hand stays on Grantaire, covering the band-aid.

“It's not about me?” Enjolras interrupts, tilting his head. And that's dangerous that tilt, it means there's a plan and he's got you where he wants you. “I think we should make it about me. Reframe the problem. You trust me.”

“It's not that simple.”

“Let's try for a moment to make it simple. Down to the core of the problem. You and me. You trust me.”

“I do.” Grantaire says, looking helplessly up at Enjolras.

It's not that simple, Grantaire thinks. Enjolras insists, in spite of all reason, that he loves Grantaire. Grantaire, naturally, doesn't believe him. This is the basic form of the problem as far as Grantaire sees it.

Grantaire trusts Enjolras, knows that Enjolras would never hurt him deliberately. It follows then that the declaration of love was not done while Enjolras was fully rational. That it was an unprecedented and painful result of Enjolras freaking out.

Courfeyrac was right though when he pointed out that too much time had passed for that explanation to make sense. Which leaves the option of Enjolras lying to Grantaire, deliberately playing with something he knows would hurt Grantaire more than anything.

But Enjolras has a point, although Grantaire may have lost sight of in the last few days, because Grantaire does trust him. Knowing Enjolras - and Grantaire does, better than anything, in some ways better than himself - knowing Enjolras, Grantaire doesn't believe he would ever do that. Enjolras is capable of cruelty, but not cruelty of such a personal, intimate kind.

If Enjolras is in full control of himself and isn't lying, then he must be telling the truth.

Grantaire can't believe that though, which leads everything back to the start.

Here's the core of the problem then. Grantaire doesn't believe it when Enjolras says he loves him. At the same time he doesn't believe Enjolras would lie to him. His mind seems incapable of bending on either of those points, which leaves him in a painful stalemate.

Reframing the problem then, Grantaire thinks, let's make it about Enjolras. Just Enjolras.

And yes, that is something Grantaire can do. The point of Grantaire has always been Enjolras, keeping him alive, trying to make him happy. What does Enjolras want? Enjolras who may or may not be lying –

Which is not important, Grantaire realizes.

The one thing Grantaire can agree with himself on is that Enjolras can't still be freaking out. Enjolras is in full control of himself when he insists he loves Grantaire that much is certain by now. And that is actually all Grantaire needs. Whether Enjolras is telling the truth or not doesn't matter. What matters is that Enjolras clearly wants Grantaire to believe he is telling the truth.

And this finally, Grantaire can work with.

Enjolras shouldn't love Grantaire, because Grantaire is a mess and has done nothing to deserve it. There is no way around that one that was the stumbling block. But this way, it's not about believing it because it's believable. If it's instead about doing what Enjolras wants, then Grantaire is released from the burden of making sense of it. Framed like that, Grantaire can hold the idea of Enjolras loving him in his mind without flinching away from it.

“Wait. I think I got it.” Grantaire says – Interrupting Enjolras, who was about to continue.

“What?” Enjolras asks, thrown. He was not done, clearly. Had barely gotten started on his argument.

Grantaire is aware he jumped the gun here that his solution is not what Enjolras was aiming for. He can't tell Enjolras how he got there either. If he explained his reasoning, Enjolras would be horrified. Grantaire worries too that his logic won't survive being held up to someone else's scrutiny. That it will fall apart if someone prods at it.

He needs it to stick. He really does. It's only been seconds since he found a solution to the tangled mess of emotions he's been caught in, but he's desperate to keep hold of the sense of clarity he's managed to create.

What he needs to do, in this sudden state of clarity, is to trap himself. Do something that leaves commitment as the only option, even if he starts doubting later.

Grantaire kisses Enjolras.

Grantaire can't explain how it happens. He would call it the bravest thing he has ever done – except he doesn't remember the idea forming and definitely doesn't remember deciding to act on it. Grantaire would blame Courfeyrac, but Courfeyrac can never know about it because he would be so smug.

Grantaire kisses Enjolras. It's shockingly easy. Enjolras is standing close so Grantaire doesn't have to move far. His head is already tilted in the right direction, so he only has to stretch a couple of inches and then their lips are touching.

It's quick. A chaste peck is what Grantaire can manage at his bravest before the alarm bells going off in his head becomes too loud to ignore. It turns out to be enough. As he pulls back, Grantaire sees a mix of emotions quickly pass over Enjolras' face. It happens too fast for Grantaire to identify them, especially over the sound of his own mind panicking – he kissed Enjolras he shouldn't have done that he should never have done that _what is wrong with him_ \- but he does recognize that none of them are bad. There's no disgust or anger or pity, Grantaire notes and then Enjolras pulls him back into another kiss and everything else gets drowned out.

The second kiss is a brief glide of lips, barely longer than the first. It's immediately followed by a third, a fourth and a fifth. Enjolras starts pulling away between each, like he means to say something, only to dart back again impulsively. By the sixth kiss Enjolras separates long enough to whisper Grantaire's name, wonder clear in his voice, before leaning back in. Grantaire shivers into the seventh kiss.

“Okay.” Enjolras murmurs, pulling away again and seeming to mean it this time. Grantaire opens his eyes, but Enjolras is too close to focus on. “What's this?” Enjolras asks softly.

“It's a grown-up thing called kissing.” Grantaire says, slightly out of breath.

“Oh, so now I'm a child? A moment ago I was senile. Make up your mind.” Enjolras says lightly, moving his hand away from the band-aid and threading fingers into Grantaire's hair, still damp from the shower.

Grantaire finds himself leaning forward and stealing another kiss, once again with no memory of making that decision. The urge to apologize and run away flares up, but then Enjolras quiets it by making a pleased noise against Grantaire's lips and sort of – melting into the kiss.

Enjolras pulls away gently, rubbing a thumb reassuringly in the hollow behind Grantaire's ear. “Grantaire, tell me what you're thinking.” Enjolras says.

“I'm thinking this went better than expected.” Grantaire admits. “I'm thinking… this is better than talking. I can do this.”

Enjolras hums thoughtfully and then leans up to press a soft kiss to Grantaire's temple. He stays there, lips brushing skin as he asks: “Do you believe me?”

Grantaire exhales sharply and feels a stab of panic. He tilts his head back, seeking Enjolras, and receives another brief kiss on the lips, which makes the feeling recede.

“I'm...getting there. I think.” Grantaire says earnestly, looking up at Enjolras.

If Enjolras is disappointed, he hides it well. He nods in understanding and glances down at Grantaire's lips.

“Not-talking helps?” Enjolras asks.

“Yes.” Grantaire agrees immediately. “More of that could help. If you want.”

“I want.” Enjolras says and kisses Grantaire again.

Emboldened, Grantaire parts his lips slightly. Enjolras takes the invitation to deepen the kiss with enthusiasm.

It's… good. It's really really good. He's kissing Enjolras. Enjolras is kissing him and there's tongue and Enjolras' fingers are running through the hair at the back of Grantaire head and… and Grantaire loses track of time for a while.

Grantaire ends up on his back. Somehow. He's not sure if he pulled or Enjolras pushed or the entire apartment mysteriously flipped up. Grantaire has had dreams like this; him on his back, Enjolras on top of him. The way Enjolras touches him is different from anything his subconsciousness has ever cooked up though. Enjolras' hand keeps moving, stroking Grantaire's jaw, over his pulse point, down his side, the touch easy and sure but also gentle, the way you handle something both familiar and precious. Enjolras keeps making these soft, happy sighs every time they have to pull apart to let Grantaire breathe. This can't be a dream because Grantaire has never dreamt up an Enjolras for himself that was this sweet, this happy to be here.

“Your hands are shaking.” Enjolras says suddenly, breaking away.

“I… What?” Grantaire murmurs and blinks up at Enjolras, needing a moment to understand why the kissing stopped.

Enjolras raises himself further up on his elbows and looks pointedly down at his own chest where Grantaire's hands are knotted in his t-shirt. Grantaire put them there at some point before he ended up on his back. They haven't moved since because Grantaire has rules about when he can and cannot touch Enjolras - rules which are very confused right now - and those hands are indeed shaking.

“Oh. Yeah.” Grantaire says, catching up. “Yeah. It's nothing. Don't worry about it.”

“Grantaire...” Enjolras admonishes, frowning down at him.

“Look, when did you say you… you realized? Germany, 30 or 40 years ago? Well, I've carried this since we met. I raise you 180-something years.”

“184 years since we met.” Enjolras supplies softly.

“Yes, 184 years. I had to make rules, to make it easier for both of us. And this, what we're doing, what I'm thinking… There are things I'm not allowed to think while I'm around you, that I would never be thinking while I'm _touching you_. You know. You can smell arousal, I know. Haven't I been good at keeping it away from you? At least when I'm awake? But right now it's… I think it's adrenaline. The shaking. There's a little voice telling me I should get out of here as quickly as possible, that I should get away from you.”

“Kissing me makes you go into fight-or-flight? That's why your hands are shaking?” Enjolras asks, voice flat.

“Just flight.” Grantaire corrects. This does not seem to make Enjolras any happier.

“Maybe we should stop. Slow down a bit.” Enjolras says and Grantaire feels Enjolras' muscle shift in preparation to get off of him.

“Nonono. No stopping.” Grantaire says and pulls Enjolras down again, closer, with his shaky traitor hands. “Stopping is bad. It's just a little, small, voice. It's nothing to worry about.”

“Grantaire, we're not doing anything you're not comfortable with.”

“Stopping is not gonna help. You know how my mind can twist things.” Grantaire insists. “If you stop it'll mean you changed your mind, or that you were pretending and regretted it. Trust me, it'll turn bad in my head. And after it does, I won't let you touch me again. At all. Not just like this, at all.”

Enjolras goes very still and for a moment Grantaire is afraid he will get angry at the ultimatum. Instead, Enjolras sighs and drops down, pressing his face into Grantaire's shoulder.

“You really mean that.” Enjolras murmurs, muffled by Grantaire's t-shirt.

“I'm… I wish I was kidding.” Grantaire admits. “I'm trying to rearrange some of the pillars of my world-view for you, okay? My mental state is more delicate than usual here. If this goes wrong, it's gonna destroy me.” Grantaire says and moves a hand up to stroke Enjolras' hair in an apology. Enjolras relaxes under the touch.

“That's why I suggested slowing down.” Enjolras says, tilting his head up into Grantaire's hand.

“Okay, but I'm telling you stopping would make it worse. If you want the shaking to stop I think we'll have to work through it.”

Enjolras lifts his head and studies Grantaire's face for a moment. He wears an expression Grantaire doesn't recognize. Then Enjolras twists his head and brushes a kiss over the soft skin at the inside of Grantaire's wrist. There's something about that - the way he does it, quickly, like he's stealing it or how the placement, on top of a pulse point, is so very Enjolras – it makes Grantaire's mouth go dry.

Enjolras crawls up, settles his weight on his elbows on either side of Grantaire's head, surrounding Grantaire.

“Working through it?” Enjolras asks, temptingly close. “What did you have in mind?”

“Before was good.” Grantaire manages and tugs at Enjolras t-shirt with a still shaking hand. It doesn't have enough force to move Enjolras, but is enough to let him know Grantaire wants him closer. Enjolras obliges by shifting his weight onto one elbow, taking hold of Grantaire's jaw and kissing a line down Grantaire's face, starting at the top and ending on his lips. It's a chaste peck, but when Enjolras tries to pull away Grantaire follows and deepens the kiss.

It's a little shocking how easy kissing Enjolras is. Grantaire would have thought – purely theoretically, he has never deluded himself into hoping for such a thing - that kissing Enjolras would be like nothing else. Mind blowing, basically. And it is good, amazing, it is. But it is also.... Kissing. Grantaire knows kissing. He is a hot-blooded male who has lived long enough to have a fairly impressive list of experiences on that front. Kissing Enjolras is primarily good the same way that kissing any person you like is good. It's the pleasure of lips brushing, the thrill and heat of having another person close, of feeling them shiver and moan when Grantaire moves his tongue just _so_.

There's the knowledge it's Enjolras mixed in, of course. Grantaire knows his touch and his scent too well. There's no way Grantaire wouldn't be constantly aware it is Enjolras kissing him. It's Enjolras, and that does add thrill and wonder and warmth - _Warm_ is the best way Grantaire can describe the feeling. There are still small stabs of panic in the back of his mind, but overshadowing that is the warmth settling in his chest, spreading steadily. Warm feelings of being cared for and wanted by someone who _knows_ him, knows him better than anyone, by _Enjolras_.

Fundamentally, it is just kissing though. - It's Enjolras kissing him and making soft noises of pleasure and it feels safe and warm and _amazing_ – But it is just kissing. Which is reassuring, in a way, because Grantaire knows kissing. Kissing he can do and do well.

“Hey.” Enjolras says, a while later. He's out of breath despite not needing it, which is very gratifying. And also distracting. Enjolras has to repeat himself and squeeze at Grantaire's hip to draw Grantaire's attention away from the very important business of mouthing along Enjolras' jawline.

“Can I?” Enjolras asks.

“Yeah, anything you want.” Grantaire answers, having no idea what Enjolras is asking for. It doesn't really matter. What matters is that Enjolras has pulled his head a couple of inches away to look at Grantaire and he needs to get back down here. “Anything, just. Come here.”

Grantaire meets no resistance when he tugs Enjolras down again. Instead, Enjolras makes a pleased sound against Grantaire's lips and moves his hand up, slipping beneath the edge of Grantaire's t-shirt and trailing over skin. And oh, that was probably what Enjolras had been asking permission for. Grantaire thinks he can be forgiven for not picking up on that since Enjolras has had his hands on Grantaire's bare chest plenty of times before without feeling a need to ask permission.

Context is important though. Enjolras doesn't usually have his tongue in Grantaire's mouth when he touches him. The combination turns out to be more than Grantaire can handle. Enjolras' thumb starts rubbing small circles above Grantaire's hipbone and Grantaire has to abruptly break the kiss with a panicked moan.

“Don't go.” Grantaire gasps. He slaps a hand over his hip, trapping Enjolras' hand in place before it can move away. “You're fine. I just need a moment.”

“Flight?” Enjolras asks, much calmer than Grantaire had expected. Like he'd seen this coming.

“No, yeah. Flight.” Grantaire says and shit, his hands are shaking harder than before. He lets go of Enjolras and hides the hand in the sheets. “Sorry. Give me a sec.”

“It's fine. Take all the time you need. I'll be right here.” Enjolras says. He bends down, slowly, to kiss the edge of Grantaire's jaw, giving Grantaire plenty of time to dodge away if he wants. Grantaire sighs and tilts his head into it instead.

“I'm having....bad thoughts. Which I know are not _bad_ bad thoughts, but I weren't allowed to have them before and I need to recalibrate. You are just very....” Grantaire pauses, struggling for words. He wants to say hot, but talking about Enjolras like that is in the category of things he usually doesn't allow himself to do. Certainly not when Enjolras is on top of him.

Enjolras takes the opportunity to drop a kiss on Grantaire's cheek and then another underneath his jaw, which doesn't help. Not that Grantaire wants him to stop.

“God, you're distracting.” Grantaire laughs.

“I'm distracting? You're one to talk. You've been sleeping in nothing but boxers since the eighties. It's been driving me crazy.” Enjolras says and kisses Grantaire's shoulder.

“What? Are you serious?” Grantaire asks.

“Grantaire, you sleep half-naked in my bed.” Enjolras says, pausing in his kissing to look earnestly at Grantaire. “You are half-naked in my bed and sometimes you have dreams that makes you smell like sex.”

“… I'm sorry?” Grantaire's says.

“It's okay, I forgive you.” Enjolras says. His hand, still on Grantaire's hip, flexes slightly, and he drops a kiss on the uninjured side of Grantaire's neck.

Grantaire goes limp. It's a reflex, an occupational hazard you could say. Enjolras' weight on him and Enjolras mouth against his throat and Grantaire's body goes completely limp, because that is the best response when you're about to be bitten. That's not what's happening right now though, and Grantaire doesn't think Enjolras will like the comparison.

Thankfully, with the way Grantaire is lying it's not very obvious what happened. To be on the safe side, Grantaire tries covering it by moving a little as soon as he's over the trained response. He squirms in place and attempts rearranging his legs – and his thigh moves up and presses against what can only be Enjolras' cock. Hard, or at least on the way to it – Grantaire's thigh isn't there long enough to tell because the instant it registers in his mind he jumps.

And okay, Grantaire is in no shape or form proud of this. He is not some scandalized virgin. He has touched plenty of hard cocks before, much more directly than through several layers of clothing. But never one attached to Enjolras – Enjolras, who Grantaire until very recently weren't even sure had a sex drive. So yes, Grantaire jumps.

On the positive side, what follows turns out to make up for the embarrassment. Because when Grantaire jumps, Enjolras responds by tightening his grip on Grantaire's hip and pressing down. Pinning him, basically. It's only for a second, then the hand is gone and Enjolras shifts his weight completely off of Grantaire, but it's long enough that Grantaire notices.

He's possessive, Grantaire thinks, right before something clicks into place in his mind.

Grantaire grabs hold of Enjolras t-shirt, gets leverage with his leg and flips Enjolras onto his back. Enjolras doesn't resist, but grunts in surprise as Grantaire lands with his weight on Enjolras' stomach.

“You want me.” Grantaire says, wonder clear in his voice as he looks down at Enjolras.

Enjolras just pinned Grantaire without thinking, is the thing. It was automatic. As soon as Enjolras realized what he was doing he had let go of Grantaire. But that doesn't change the fact his first – unthinking – response to Grantaire seemingly trying to get away was pinning him. Which is proof Enjolras wants Grantaire there, beneath him. It's proof enough for Grantaire at least, because Enjolras couldn't - wouldn't fake that. There's no way Enjolras would _decide_ to pin Grantaire when it looked like he wanted to get away. And it's not some vampire instinct either, because Enjolras has just been fed, and would already be across the room if his Hunger was that close to the surface.

“I'm Patroclus.” Grantaire tells Enjolras, exhilarated. He must be grinning like a lunatic, but can't stop himself from smiling. He feels lightheaded and like his chest might burst from all the warmth it's suddenly containing. “You want me. You need me – you need me so much. But you want me too. You're possessive, you want me closer, you want _everything_.”

“I do.” Enjolras says, staring up at Grantaire, his expression oddly blank. He sits up abruptly, causing Grantaire to slide down into his lap – and there's the cock again, half-hard. Grantaire doesn't jump this time. Enjolras barely responds to the contact either, more preoccupied with taking hold of Grantaire's chin and studying him.

“I do” Enjolras repeats, firmly. Hopeful, but trying – and failing - to hide it. He lets go of Grantaire's face and his hand flutters down Grantaire's side, a series of brief touches that never settles anywhere, uncertain. Grantaire catches it with his own, tangling their fingers.

“You should tell me something.” Grantaire says, squeezing Enjolras' hand. “You've been bringing up all this stuff I didn't know. Every time you needed to make a point you had a story. Tell me something now, something I didn't notice. I'll believe you.”

“Something?” Enjolras asks. A smile, poorly hidden, makes the corner of his mouth twitch up and Grantaire has to kiss him. It ends up longer than planned because it's hard to stop kissing Enjolras once you've started.

“Your pick.” Grantaire says eventually, short of breath, and nudges Enjolras' nose with his own “Anything.”

“I'll tell you something about the bed.” Enjolras says, making Grantaire snort. “Sort of. There's two parts, the second is about the bed. The first part is about sleeping. Remember when you took you trip here the first time? You were gone two days and when you came back to me, I told you Trina Peterson had changed her mind? She'd promised to be your wingman, but when you came back she thought we were a couple? I did that.”

“You... No, you wouldn't have lied to her.” Grantaire says, frowning.

“You just said you'd believe me.”

“I'm not saying it's untrue. I meant how did you do that? Without lying?”

“It wasn't planned. Trina asked me if it was nice to have the apartment to myself. You'd been complaining about how small it was -”

“That apartment was ridiculously small, Enjolras, even by your standards.” Grantaire interjects.

“It was small, and she asked me if it was nice to have the space to myself.” Enjolras continues, unperturbed. “And I didn't lie. I told her I can't sleep when I can't hear you breathing.”

“I… didn't know that.” Grantaire says, leaning back a little so he can see Enjolras' face properly.

Grantaire has nightmares every so often. Nightmares which once upon a time plagued him so much there was a month where he hardly slept at all. Nightmares which barely interferes with his sleep anymore because Enjolras has made it his job to chase them away. If Enjolras has trouble sleeping that is definitely information Grantaire should have had before.

And usually this would bother him more, but right now he is still too giddy for any upset to really register.

“I know. You've been under the impression I simply forget when you aren't around. Sometimes you remind me I should sleep when you have to go away.”

“How long?” Grantaire asks.

“Always.” Enjolras says, meaning since the barricade and oh yeah, Grantaire is going to be mad about this later. There are more important things to attend to at the moment though. Like depositing Enjolras' hand on Grantaire's hip, so he has both hands free to cup Enjolras' face.

“You're a _mess_.” Grantaire grins and gently knocks their foreheads together, not bothering to hide his own delight. “You're almost as much of a mess as I am.”

“Believe me, I'm worse.” Enjolras says. “But that's not important right now. I need to tell you the second part.”

“The one about the bed.”

“Yes. It's not a story this time. It's just the fact I want you in my bed. I _want_ you there. I can't sleep if I can't hear you breathing, but we don't have to be in the same bed for that. I can hear your breathing anywhere in the apartment, anywhere on this floor. I don't need us to sleep in the same bed, but I do want it. That's my point. I'm a mess, as you say, and I need you. But I also want you and it's a very different feeling. I need you and I want you and I know the difference because for a time it was just the first one.” Enjolras says. “I love you. Do you believe me this time?”

And amazingly, Grantaire does. Not even a twinge of doubt. It's funny, because he's as certain of this, now, as he was of the opposite earlier. Grantaire's mind doesn't do gray areas when it comes to Enjolras. He can't, too much of himself is tied up in him. His relationship with Enjolras is the foundation Grantaire builds his sanity on. It needs to be stable – he needs to be sure of his place in it – for it to carry the load.

“I believe you.” Grantaire says, and Enjolras lights up, completely. Grantaire hasn't seen him this bright since the others got their memories back. The sight makes Grantaire's heart skip a beat. “You love me.” Grantaire says, voice as certain and steady as it has ever been capable of.

Enjolras makes a strangled noise and surges forward, kissing Grantaire hot and demanding. His hands slips beneath Grantaire's t-shirt again, running up Grantaire's back. When he has to pull back to let Grantaire breathe, he murmurs “I do, I do.” lips drifting over Grantaire's cheek, to the corner of his jaw, impatient, then back to Grantaire's mouth again.

Grantaire laughs into the kiss, no particular reason beyond the fact he is happy – incomprehensibly so, bubbling over with it, spilling out. He tangles a hand in Enjolras' hair with a considerable amount of glee – because he can do that know if he wants, he's allowed to even if he doesn't have an excuse for it. He tugs lightly at Enjolras' hair, pulls to change the angle of the kiss which makes Enjolras moan.

This is amazing. Why was Grantaire so stubborn? They could have been doing this since Friday if he'd just listened to Enjolras. This is why Enjolras is in charge. He has the best ideas.

“Grantaire.” Enjolras breathes “Grantaire.” His hand settles possessively on the small of Grantaire's back, pulling him a few hairbreadths closer. Enjolras is fully hard by now, judging by the length Grantaire can feel pressing insistently against his thigh. Grantaire himself is still soft - decades of training has made sure of that - but the panicked voices in the back of his mind telling him to _stop_ have quieted down, and without them Grantaire can't imagine it'll take long if they keep going like this. Not when he's sitting on the evidence of Enjolras' interest and Enjolras keeps making such lovely noises.

“Yeah, you've got me.” Grantaire says. “It's all settled now, no going back.”

Enjolras hums a pleased response and kisses Grantaire greedily. Grantaire lets him for several moments – maybe, 'lets' isn't the right word, more like enthusiastically participates and forgets himself because kissing Enjolras is addictive. But eventually, Grantaire remembers that he wasn't done talking and breaks away.

“What I'm trying to say is,” Grantaire continues and then pauses, momentarily distracted when Enjolras takes the opportunity to trail a line of open-mouthed kisses down the uninjured side of Grantaire neck. Grantaire shivers and is very relieved to find that Enjolras' mouth on his neck doesn't cause any embarrassing conditioned responses this time. It seems Enjolras' weight on him is necessary for that. Which is great because it feels really good and now Grantaire doesn't have to worry about avoiding it.

“I'm saying I'm good. It's done, all settled. We can stop now and I won't freak out on you, I promise.” Grantaire finally says.

“Stop?” Enjolras says, looking up with a confused frown that is downright adorable.

“You thought we should stop with the not-talking, remember? You can now.” Grantaire says, doing a terrible job at hiding his own amusement. Enjolras catches on and narrows his eyes.

“You're not as funny as you think you are.” Enjolras says.

“I'm hilarious.” Grantaire grins. “But you really did wanna stop earlier. I know it can be hard keeping track of in your advanced age -”

“And I'm senile again, I see.”

“- so I thought I should remind you and make it clear we're good. You've got me. I won't change my mind if you stop touching me.” Grantaire says and shifts slightly to make sure Enjolras doesn't take him up on it, conveniently rubbing against Enjolras' erection.

This time Enjolras does respond to the contact, going still with a quickly cut-off whine and wearing an expression Grantaire hasn't seen on him before today. The expression in itself is mesmerizing, his lips slightly parted and lids heavy, light lashes over dark eyes - but then it occurs to Grantaire that this is how a turned on Enjolras looks, that he, _Grantaire_ , has the privilege of seeing, of knowing how a turned on Enjolras looks. It is going to his head, all of it is. Grantaire would do anything for Enjolras, but in this moment he feels like he _could_ do anything. Like no matter how impossible the task, Grantaire could never fail if it was Enjolras who asked him.

“Grantaire.” Enjolras says, voice low, and licks his lower lip. If he didn't already have Grantaire's full attention that would certainly do it. “You may have uncontested seniority on wanting, but I've got you beat when it comes to celibacy. Believe me, we don't have to stop anything for my sake.”

“Huh.” Grantaire murmurs. He hadn't thought of that.

Enjolras tries kissing him, but Grantaire leans away because something just occurred to him. Grantaire covers Enjolras mouth with his hand before Enjolras starts looking hurt at the rejection. Also to stop any distraction.

“This is gonna sound like I think you're a juvenile again. I know, I know, back and forth on whether you're ancient or a child. But I think I have to -” Grantaire cuts himself off in surprise when Enjolras licks his palm. Grantaire makes a face and pulls his hand away.

“You have to what?” Enjolras asks serenely, while Grantaire wipes his hand on Enjolras' t-shirt.

“Have you done this before?” Grantaire asks. There's nothing innocent about the way Enjolras kisses. But in the centuries Grantaire has known him, Grantaire has never seen Enjolras with anyone. Grantaire sleeps a lot more than Enjolras though. He supposes that adds up to a lot of hours where he has no idea what Enjolras is doing. But he can't see why Enjolras would be so secretive with his sex life, if he did have one.

“Oh.” Enjolras says, leaning back a little, something that might be embarrassment crossing his face. Grantaire stops him from pulling too far away with the hand still tangled in his hair.

“I have,” Enjolras says “Just not since… Since I was human.”

“Huh.” Grantaire murmurs again. He runs his hand down the back of Enjolras' neck, reassuring. “That makes a lot of sense.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It sounds just like you. You worry.” Grantaire says. “But that's _ages,_ literally _._ And you were _17._ That's the worst time to stop having sex. You poor thing.”

“Yes. What it did to my sex life was the real tragedy of being turned into a vampire against my will.” Enjolras deadpans.

Grantaire grins in response and kisses Enjolras, deep and dirty. He uses every trick he knows until Enjolras is gasping into his mouth and so distracted his fingers are digging bruises into Grantaire's skin. When Grantaire finally pulls away, he rolls his hips against Enjolras, earning a full-body shudder from Enjolras.

“Grantaire.” Enjolras groans, plaintive, voice heavy with want. Grantaire nips at Enjolras lower lip, feeling powerful and a little wild.

“Let's see if we can fix that.” Grantaire says.


	7. Chapter 7

The sun is up and warm on Grantaire's skin when he is woken by a single finger trailing a line over his shoulder. Nothing Enjolras does ever wakes Grantaire unless he means it to. This gives him the ability to steal Grantaire's pants without disturbing Grantaire's sleep, but also means he can wake Grantaire with the lightest of touches. Grantaire doubts Enjolras has ever thought deeply on this, on how he must be affecting Grantaire's mind for that to work, because Enjolras has never seemed anything but pleased at the practicality of it. Grantaire's sleep is very important to Enjolras, only to be disturbed with the utmost of care.

The finger moves on, traces along a collarbone and then up until the whole hand is cupping the side of Grantaire's throat. There's nothing new about this in itself. Enjolras has woken him with this kind of gentle touches before.

What _is_ new is how the bed smells of sex, more so than when Grantaire has simply had a dream he shouldn't be having. What is new is the warm feeling in Grantaire's chest, steady and sure. What is new is how the touch is followed by a careful brush of lips on each of Grantaire's eyelids, barely there.

Grantaire opens his eyes after the kisses, like some kind of fairytale princess. Enjolras is sitting on the edge of the bed, fully dressed. The shirt he is wearing is only slightly rumpled, which means he can't have been up long. He's holding a phone in his hand, screen pressed against his shoulder. Grantaire rolls onto his back and smiles up at him.

“Apollo.” Grantaire murmurs, still drowsy from sleep. A second later he remembers that Enjolras has started taking exception to that nickname – although in this moment it seems only natural with the warm sunlight streaming into the room and painting Enjolras' hair golden. But Grantaire must have said it in the good way because Enjolras smiles in response and runs a thumb along Grantaire's jaw, catching on his stubble.

“Ariel wants to talk with you. She seems unhappy with me.” Enjolras says, sounding oddly pleased about it. “You up for it? Or should I tell her to call back?”

“I'm up. You woke me.” Grantaire points out, rubbing at his eyes with one hand. “Give me.”

Enjolras hands him the phone and Grantaire uses the point of contact to tug Enjolras down into a quick, clumsy kiss. When Enjolras pulls away his smile is blinding.

Feeling happy with the universe and his place in it, Grantaire lifts the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“Grantaire?” Eponine says and Grantaire wonders if they left her waiting too long because she sounds annoyed.

Enjolras points between himself and the door with a questioning look, silently asking if he should leave. Grantaire shrugs before pointing to Enjolras, indicating that it's up to him. Enjolras immediately crawls over Grantaire, joining him in the bed.

“Yeah.” Grantaire answers Eponine, mildly distracted while Enjolras settles half on top of him, using his chest as a pillow and draping an arm loosely over his waist. Cuddling used to be for comfort, so out of habit Grantaire's free hand ends up in Enjolras' hair.

“Grantaire, why the hell don't you have your own phone? Marius told me I had to call Enjolras to get hold of you and sure, you decide how to live your life blah blah blah, but that sounds messed up. Is this some weird European thing?”

“It's not that weird. Twenty years ago nobody had phones on them all the time, and people managed just fine.” Grantaire points out and pets Enjolras reassuringly, who has gone slightly tense.

“It's not twenty years ago now. Welcome to the future and get your own damn phone so people doesn't have to go through Enjolras every time they want to talk with you.”

“You used to be able to call me directly, I just broke that phone. I'll get you the number to the new one as soon as I get it started up, okay?”

“Yeah, that's better.” Eponine concurs. “So how much did you hate me when the hangover caught up with you?”

“Not even a little. I still think you're amazing.” Grantaire promises.

“Well, that I am.” Eponine jokes with an undercurrent of embarrassment that is not quite hidden by the bluster.

“Thank you for looking out for me.” From below, Enjolras makes a little noise that might be agreement.”I owe you.”

“I will put it on the tab.” Eponine says. “How are you though? My offer to beat Enjolras up is still on the table. That can be put on the tab too.”

“No, I err...won't be needing that. No.” Grantaire says awkwardly, glancing down. Enjolras raises an eyebrow at him in question. Grantaire covers Enjolras face with his hand so he doesn't have to look at it. “That's actually, uhm, good. We're good. Very good. Turns out I was wrong on... on some details.”

“So he wasn't lying?”

“No, he wasn't lying.”

“Good.”

Enjolras pushes Grantaire's hand away from his face and looks at Grantaire, something intense in his eyes.

“Ariel, can I call you back later?”

“Oh. Yeah, sure.”

“Good. Thanks again, and I'll get you the number for the new phone.” Grantaire says, hurriedly saying goodbye.

Enjolras moves up as soon as Grantaire ends the call. He straddles Grantaire's stomach and leans down over him, taking his face between gentle hands.

“I love you.” Enjolras tells him.

“I know you do.” Grantaire promises.

Enjolras slides a hand beneath Grantaire's neck and tilts his head up into a kiss. As Grantaire parts his lips for Enjolras, it occurs to him he must have morning breath. Enjolras doesn't seem to care, taking possession of Grantaire's mouth with familiarity and complete surety of his welcome. Grantaire makes an encouraging noise in the back of his throat and tries to pull Enjolras closer with a hand on his back. Disappointingly, Enjolras resists and ends the kiss instead.

“You should get up. Marius and Cosette are coming over.” Enjolras says, dropping an apologetic kiss on Grantaire's forehead. As he does so, Grantaire gets a good look at Enjolras' neck and notes that there's no trace of the hickey he remembers leaving there last night. Not surprising considering how quickly Enjolras heals bullet wounds.

“Marius and Cosette? When?” Grantaire asks.

“Soon. When Cosette is done with her classes for the day. She came home last night.”

“I promised Marius they could see the lists as soon as she came back.” Grantaire remembers.

“Exactly. You should get up. You should eat something and shower before they get here. You really need a shower.” Enjolras says, sounding very smug about the last part.

“So you didn't just wake me for Eponine.”

“No. Today I wouldn't have woken you for that.” Enjolras' hand brushes over the covered stitches on the side of Grantaire's throat. “I wouldn't have woken you for Marius and Cosette either. But you did express concern that Cosette would kill me the other day, so I thought I should let you be there to protect me.”

“I did?”

“Mm,” Enjolras hums, amused. “You did last Thursday. You said something about making sure there weren't any stakes lying around for Cosette to use.”

“That does sound like me.” Grantaire concedes. “I better get up then. We don't have any pointy sticks, but there are knives in the kitchen.”

 

***

 

It's almost weird how it isn't weird at all. There has been kissing – a lot of kissing – and orgasms, and Grantaire has rearranged his worldview to include the fact that Enjolras loves him. One would think this should amount to a little weirdness while they adjust to the changes. But it actually all comes easily. After the misery of the preceding couple of days, having Enjolras close again only feels like the natural order of things reasserting themselves.

And really, there isn't much of a change to adjust to. Grantaire starts sorting Enjolras' behavior into mental boxes of Stuff-he-has-done-before or Huh-this-is-new. There ends up being much much more in the first than in the second category.

While Grantaire scrambles eggs for breakfast, Enjolras presses himself against Grantaire's back and rests his chin on Grantaire's shoulder. This behavior goes into the first box, even the hand Enjolras wraps around Grantaire's middle and slides beneath his t-shirt. Grantaire remembers the last time that happened rather vividly. He'd just gotten back from a trip and he'd been grateful for how tired he was from the journey, because it was the only reason he hadn't had an inappropriate response when Enjolras draped himself across his back and started tracing patterns on the bare skin of his stomach. Or perhaps an appropriate response, knowing what he knows now.

“It occurred to me,” Enjolras says, watching Grantaire scramble his eggs. “That if you want to attack someone, but are afraid of retaliation, then sending a third party to talk for you – a third party who are known to act rashly, who has a history of antagonism with one of the people you are sending them to talk with, a third party you do send just to talk, but who you know are very likely to do something stupid – That's a great way to hurt your enemy without getting blamed for it.”

“That is a good point.” Grantaire says.

“They seem scared of us and cautious, and you still might be right we have proven ourselves to be too much trouble. But we should prepare to deal with them.”

“What's my marching orders then, chief?” Grantaire asks.

“Information first. Look into the magic shops. Ask Cosette to find out what her dad knows about the trade in the city. I'll see what information Bahorel can get on who rented the storage unit and follow that.” Enjolras says and kisses the corner of Grantaire's jaw – kissing goes into the second box. Kissing is actually the only thing that has gone into the second box since Grantaire started keeping track.

Grantaire is starting to pick up a pattern to the shapes Enjolras is lazily tracing over his stomach. There are five points he keeps drifting between, one of them the scar still left from when Grantaire got shot two weeks ago. Like Enjolras, Grantaire's scars all disappear with time, although for Grantaire it's a matter of years rather than the couple of hours it takes Enjolras. The only scars he keeps are the marks from feeding on the side of his throat and above his collarbone, permanent because they never have the time to disappear completely before getting reopened.

“You know,” Enjolras says, thoughtful, while Grantaire turns off the stove and tips the eggs onto a plate. “Feuilly said he'd teach me to cook.”

“What? That's a terrible idea.” Grantaire says and pointedly stretches out to sets the plate down away from Enjolras, in case he gets any ideas.”You can't cook.”

“Yeah, hence the need to be taught.”

“Enjolras, you can't cook. Last time you tried the food caught on fire.” Grantaire says and turns around to face him. Enjolras hands stay where they are beneath Grantaire's t-shirt, causing a delicious slide across Grantaire's skin as he turns. The hands settle on his back, giving up on whatever pattern Enjolras was following.

“If you burn down the kitchen, we'll have to get someone in to fix it and when they're done, it'll take days before you stop being cranky about having strangers in your space.” Grantaire says.

“To be fair, it's a long time since I last tried cooking. It's harder to set things on fire with a modern stove.” Enjolras points out.

“Why do you want to cook? You don't eat.” Grantaire asks.

“But you do. And Feuilly made the excellent point it would only be fair since you feed me.” Enjolras says, looking pleased at this explanation and making Grantaire laugh, surprised.

“Look at you.” Grantaire says, voice filled with delight. “Couple of weeks ago you wouldn't have been able to say that without making a face. Having the others around has mellowed you out.”

He remembers suddenly that he can touch Enjolras – and that's another thing for the Huh-this-is-new box, he can touch Enjolras without having to make a justification for it. He's allowed to touch Enjolras just because he wants to. Touching Enjolras for no other reason than he wants to is in fact encouraged.

Grantaire hooks a finger into one of Enjolras' belt loops and kisses him. Enjolras responds eagerly, pulling Grantaire closer with such enthusiasm that they have to take a couple of steps to keep from losing their balance. It makes Grantaire laugh which breaks the kiss.

“Hmm” Enjolras hums into the space between them and makes an effort to adopt a thoughtful expression “Or maybe having someone else touch my dick for the first time in centuries has done wonders for my mood.”

Grantaire cracks up completely at that, so much that he has to duck down and press his head against Enjolras' chest while he shakes with laughter. Enjolras sniggers a little too, clearly proud of himself, but finishes long before Grantaire does. He pulls a hand out of Grantaire's t-shirt and strokes Grantaire's hair while Grantaire finishes giggling into his chest.

“You're in a good mood too.” Enjolras murmurs under his breath. Mostly to himself, Grantaire thinks.

It wasn't really _that_ funny, what Enjolras had said. Certainly not to the degree of rendering Grantaire speechless with laughter. But Grantaire is just… happy. Very happy, and for once secure in that happiness. Not worried it will disintegrate and float away between his hands any moment.

Enjolras kisses the top his head.

“Yeah. I'm happy.” Grantaire says, dispelling the last of his laughter, and lifts his head to kiss Enjolras again.

Without breaking the kiss Grantaire nudges Enjolras backwards until he hits the kitchen table. Enjolras pulls away with a short huff of amusement, hops up to sit on the table before pulling Grantaire back in. There, Grantaire thinks, they won't be interrupted by stumbling again.

Enjolras is even taller than usual like this. Grantaire will probably get a crick in his neck after a while, but it's just hard to care when he seems to fit perfectly in the space between Enjolras legs and he is pressed all along Enjolras' front. Grantaire loses time in the slide of Enjolras' mouth. It's familiar by now – a thought which sends a thrill down Grantaire's spine – the taste of Enjolras mouth, a cool palm running up along Grantaire's ribs and the soft pleased sounds Enjolras makes with little encouragement. Those sounds do something to Grantaire, small bursts of possessiveness Grantaire hadn't known he had in him.

They get interrupted by a knock on the door that makes Grantaire jump a little in surprise.

“Right.” Grantaire murmurs and reluctantly pulls away. Enjolras makes a disappointed noise of agreement and removes his hand from beneath Grantaire's t-shirt.

“Just a sec.” Enjolras says to the door, barely raising his voice, because Marius and werewolf hearing.

“You couldn't have given me a warning?” Grantaire asks, nodding to the door and reaching forward to straighten Enjolras shirt. It doesn't need much straightening, Enjolras is always rough on his clothes, so it doesn't take much to get it back to a normal level of rumpled.

“I didn't notice them coming up.” Enjolras admits, sliding off the table.

“Really?” Grantaire asks.

“Really.” Enjolras says.

And okay that's flattering, that's really flattering. It probably wouldn't work if it was people Enjolras didn't already know and trust, but still. Some of those thoughts must show on Grantaire's face, because Enjolras snorts and kisses him quickly on the cheek.

“Get your breakfast, I'll get the door.” Enjolras says fondly. He brushes a hand through Grantaire's hair as he moves away, flattening it.

Grantaire stares after him, feeling slightly dazed as everything catches up to him for a moment. He just made out with Enjolras in the kitchen. Making out with Enjolras in the kitchen is now a thing that happens in his life. He doesn't know what he could possibly have done to deserve this, but if he ever figures it out, he will do all in his power to repeat it.

Gathering himself, Grantaire turns back to his forgotten breakfast. The bread he'd been toasting has gone cold, but the scrambled eggs are still lukewarm. He piles it on to the same plate and goes to get butter from the fridge, glancing at the door just in time to see Cosette come in from the hallway.

He can hear Enjolras and Marius still in the hallway, talking quietly.

“Mademe la Baronne.” Grantaire greets her, closing the fridge. “How was your trip?”

“Good.” Cosette says.

“And your mother? - If I may ask?” Grantaire grimaces, immediately regretting the abruptness of the question.

“It was my mom. I was worried I wouldn't recognize her. I'd been so young the last time she died but – but it was my mom.” Cosette smiles, looking into the distance wistfully. Then she shakes her head and focuses on Grantaire with sharp eyes. “Mademe la Baronne. You've used that before a couple of times. I should have wondered where you got that from.”

“Could've gotten it from Marius.” Grantaire says, looking away guiltily.

“Marius doesn't call me that in front of people.” Cosette dismisses – which, uh, if she's implying what Grantaire thinks she's implying he could happily have gone on without that knowledge.

Cosette interrupts that stream of thought by reaching both arms out for him “Come Monsieur, give me a hug. You haven't seen me in days.”

Grantaire obeys, covering the short distance between them and wrapping his arms around her small frame in a careful hug. Cosette gives good hugs. She's warm, soft, smells nice and has a way of stroking your back that is much more soothing than it has any reason to be. Grantaire wonders if this is a mom-thing. He should ask someone who was hugging her before she got her memories back.

“I hear you've had a rough couple of days.” Cosette says, pulling back. She touches the bandage on his throat. “Can I see this?”

“If you want.” Grantaire says with a shrug. He'd only put the bandage on for her and Marius' sake to begin with. Enjolras doesn't have a problem with the stitches anymore. He usually doesn't. The only reason they bothered him yesterday was because they'd technically been fighting each other at the time.

Marius and Enjolras enters the kitchen just as Grantaire finishes peeling off the bandage.

“Cosette doesn't trust your stitches.” Grantaire tells Enjolras.

“Of course I do.” Cosette scoffs. She looks to Enjolras, checking, before touching the stitches lightly. “I did think it would look more... messy. It's not. This looks good.”

Enjolras tilts his chin up at that, clearly pleased. Ever since Cosette criticized him for turning Grantaire, Enjolras has been taking her opinions especially to heart with anything Grantaire-related. She'd proven herself trustworthy when it comes to Grantaire's well-being, which is one of the quickest ways to gain Enjolras' high esteem.

“How often do you do this?” Cosette asks.

“This?” Grantaire says, pointing to his throat. “This we don't do often. This isn't the normal way of things.”

“How often the normal way then?”

“I bet someone has already put that question in the hat.” Grantaire says.

“Joly did.” Marius says.

“It depends on what I've been doing.” Enjolras answers - the sanctity of the question hat apparently doesn't count when it comes to Cosette. “But always between two and three weeks.”

“Never less than two and never more than three. It took a little testing and negotiating to fine-tune that one.” Grantaire says.

“I bet. You have to have time to heal between, but if you wait too long, he gets dangerous.” Cosette says.

“It was mostly the second one we had problems with.” Enjolras admits.

“Because you're an idiot.” Grantaire tells him fondly. “Speaking of food. You want anything? Coffee?... cold scrambled eggs? I could make more.”

“You should eat your breakfast, R.” Enjolras says.

“Breakfast?” Cosette asks.

“I got up less than an hour ago.”

“We can get our own coffee, Grantaire. You should eat something. And sit down.” Marius says. “We can talk while you eat.”

“Couches.” Cosette says, nodding at Marius.

This is apparently an order, because Marius grabs Grantaire's plate with one hand, Grantaire with the other and tugs him along into the living room. To Grantaire's surprise Marius goes as far as guiding him down into a couch with a hand on his shoulder.

“I'm fine you know.” Grantaire tells him, raising an eyebrow.

“I know. You smell better.” Marius says.

Grantaire nearly asks Marius what he smells like, then remembers that to Marius he smells of vampire – or Enjolras, really. That makes him think of _other_ reasons he would smell of Enjolras and he's suddenly very happy Enjolras woke him in time to take a shower. It occurs to him that Marius has a great sense of smell, even for a werewolf, and even if Enjolras changed the sheets – which Grantaire isn't certain he did – the bedroom probably still smells of sex. He looks over and yes, the bedroom door is open a crack. Marius must have noticed him looking because when Grantaire glances back at him Marius is blushing slightly.

So okay, Marius definitely has some idea of what happened last night. It's not a secret, but there is a difference between knowing someone had sex and smelling the evidence yourself. Especially when it's people you know.

Grantaire feels a little bad for Marius, but that doesn't stops him from wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at him. It's for Marius own good, really. Knowing too much about other people's sex lives is something you have to get used to when you have super senses.

Marius' blush deepens, but he sends Grantaire a very convincing unimpressed look despite that.

“Look, I want to know how you fixed the mess you'd both made, don't think you're getting out of explaining that. But we're gonna do it later, after you've told us everything about our children.” Marius says in a no-nonsense tone that Grantaire is beginning to recognize as the dad-voice.

“You can start with the list on the table.” Enjolras says, appearing to set a glass of juice down in front of Grantaire and waves to a neat pile of papers on the coffee table “I'll get the computer. The trees are on there.” He adds, walking away again into the bedroom.

Marius looks about to go after him, but then seems to change his mind and grabs for the papers with a mildly alarming intensity instead.

“Trees?” Cosette asks, having followed Enjolras in. She hands Marius a cup of coffee and gets a couple of papers from Marius in exchange.

“The list is every living descendant we know of, last updated two months ago. Sorted by last name.” Grantaire explains. “I don't know about the trees. I haven't seen those.”

“I made three, for Geneviève, Jean and Fantine. I didn't make one for Jeanne because she didn't have any kids.” Enjolras says, returning from the bedroom with his laptop. He puts it down on the coffee table, screen tilted toward Marius and Cosette. “Just names and dates, but I thought it was a good place to start.”

Grantaire leans over and gets a glimpse of a giant sprawling family tree, the name Jean Pontmercy at the top. So this is apparently what Enjolras has been doing while Grantaire was sleeping.

Marius seems to have frozen, staring at the screen with an unreadable expression. Cosette is the one who reaches out to change the screen, zooming out to see the bottom and clicking between the three trees. She gasps softly when she gets to Fantine's tree.

“It's much shorter.” She says, pained.

“First world war.” Grantaire says so Enjolras doesn't have to, because god, he hadn't handled that well at the time. “We lost about half of everyone and the last of Fantine's line among them.”

Marius' frozen expression drops into something heartbreaking, while Cosette clenches her jaw. She's about to ask something, but gets interrupted by a knock on the front door. She looks to Marius.

“Bahorel.” Marius tells her, some of the heartbreak easing away with the distraction. He frowns at Grantaire. “You're not surprised.”

“He's invited.” Enjolras says, already on his way to answer the door.

“It's related. We'll explain. Give me the laptop.” Grantaire says. Cosette narrows her eyes at him, calculating. Impatient, Grantaire ends up grabbing the laptop himself, just as Enjolras returns with Bahorel.

“R is up!” Bahorel cheers. Grantaire waves him hello half-distracted, occupied by finding the right file.

“You should look at the P's.” Enjolras suggests, handing Bahorel a list. Marius' eyebrows go up and his attention turns back to the list in his hand, flipping through it. Cosette doesn't look at her list, but turns her narrowed eyes at Enjolras, who ducks away and drops into the couch next to Grantaire for safety.

Grantaire pats Enjolras' leg absentmindedly before opening the picture he was looking for and turning the screen back around.

“Is that a gravestone?” Bahorel asks. “What are – wait.” Bahorel pulls the laptop out of Grantaire's hands, dropping his list in the process. “Wait, wait, wait! This is my _Grandpa's_. This is a picture of my Grandpa's gravestone! What the hell man?”

“You know we weren't looking for any of you, that I only ran into Joly by chance. Well, this is the reason I was here to begin with.” Grantaire says. “I was - ”

“ _Pascal._ ” Marius interrupts loudly, finally having found the P's on the list. He looks up, wide-eyed “ _Martin Pascal_.”

“I'm on the list? List of _what?_ ” Bahorel asks.

“List of every currently living descendant of Marius and Euphrasie Pontmercy.” Enjolras tells him. “We keep track of them. That's why we came here, to check up on your grandfather's family. He's the first Pontmercy to cross the Atlantic – that's why it took us a while to follow. He moved here from Calais in 1964 to marry your grandmother.”

“Who – which tree?” Cosette asks, studying Bahorel's face intensely, like she can trace his features back to one of her children by sight alone, despite many generations of new genes muddling the connection.

“Geneviève through her son George.” Enjolras says.

“Saint Geneviève.” Grantaire says without thinking, the name coming to him unexpectedly. Cosette's attention snaps to him immediately.

“Jean called her that. How close where you?” Cosette says, a trace of anger in her voice.

“Not _that_ close.” Grantaire says hurriedly and then flounders, wanting to add more and struggling because he can't remember where he heard it. He looks to Enjolras for help.

“You got it from the urchins, R.” Enjolras says. He shifts slightly forward in a silent offer to take over. Grantaire nods in relief and leans back in the couch. While what Enjolras says sound right, none of the details are returning to Grantaire.

“It was long after you died Cosette, she was an old lady herself when the urchins all started calling her that. There was a rumour about an incident with a police officer where she intervened. Grantaire never was sure whether that actually happened, but even if it didn't she earned the title. She was notoriously fond of the street kids.” Enjolras explains.

“So... this awesome old lady was their daughter? And I'm related to her?” Bahorel asks slowly, like he's getting a feel for the words. Then something clearly clicks for him, because a wicked grin spreads on his face. He turns to Marius, adopts a wide-eyed childish expressions and says “Can I call you Grandpa?”

Marius – who has been on edge ever since the family trees were brought out – starts crying. Bahorel drops his playful expression with alarm. He reaches out to touch Marius' shoulder, but Cosette gets there faster.

“Oh my love.” Cosette says and wraps her arms around her husband. Marius sniffs and hides his against her shoulder, folding down almost comically to do so.

The full moon is only two days away, so for an outburst of emotion this might be the one of the best directions it could have taken. Still, it feels like an intrusion to watch two friends grieve over their long dead children. Grantaire decides they're going to need a moment and elbows Enjolras, who is simply staring at Marius with a guilty expression.

“What about some more coffee? We're gonna get coffee.” Grantaire says and tugs Enjolras with him off the couch. Enjolras comes easily, looking relieved at the suggestion.

Bahorel nods eagerly at Grantaire and mouths “shots” - which is an excellent idea, as long as Bahorel intends the hard liquor for Marius. It takes more effort to get a werewolf drunk. For everybody else something less drastic might be better. A drink could ease the conversation but ideally they should not be completely wasted while doing this.

Bahorel starts following Grantaire and Enjolras to the kitchen, but gets intercepted by Cosette before he gets far and is pulled into the hug as well. Bahorel ends up patting Marius' back gingerly with an anxious expression. Marius responds with a loud sniffle and pulls Bahorel close with a crushing grip.

“Later,” Marius manages, “...we're gonna talk about your grades, young man.”

“And your smoking.” Cosette ads.

“Aw no...” Bahorel complains “Can't you be fun grandparents and spoil me rotten?”

Grantaire closes the kitchen door, muffling their voices enough that he would have to concentrate to make the rest of their conversation out.

“I think that went okay.” Grantaire tells Enjolras. “Nobody went for the knives.”

Enjolras nods, still wearing his guilty expression. Grantaire realizes he doesn't know how things are between Marius and Enjolras. If Marius is still mad at Enjolras – and Grantaire for that matter – and if he _is_ still mad, how close Enjolras has gotten him to forgiveness. It's an oversight Grantaire will have to figure out later. He can't ask Enjolras about it right now when Marius is in the next room, able to hear and in the middle of a family reunion. Grantaire is pretty sure he can fix Enjolras' expression without that information anyway, for now at least.

”Come here a sec.” Grantaire says, taking Enjolras' hand and pulling him in. He kisses Enjolras light and quick, there and gone again. When Grantaire pulls back the guilt has eased away and Enjolras looks happy again. Like magic.

”There.” Grantaire murmurs, mentally tucking that into his bag of Enjolras-handling-tricks. He's going to use that one a lot, he can already tell.

”Anytime.” Enjolras says, puzzled but pleased. “Coffee was it?”

“And Bahorel ordered alcohol.”

Enjolras nods, lifting their joined hands up and kissing the back of Grantaire's lightly. “We can do that.” Enjolras says before going to the coffee machine, never letting go of Grantaire's hand. Grantaire follows happily, wondering if you can pull a muscle from smiling too much if you are out of practice.


End file.
